


Red & Black: A New Musical

by vivelarepublique



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Enjolras, Awkward Conversations, Backstage, Broadway, First Dates, Gen, Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings, New York City, Photography, Theatre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-05-14 05:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5731651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivelarepublique/pseuds/vivelarepublique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is a photographer in New York City, or as he would say, one of a million. He then falls head over heels for the star of Broadway's newest hit, Enjolras, or as he would also say, one in a million. Act one beginners to the stage...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Initially written for [Emily](http://grantairely.tumblr.com), who loved it and wanted more. Thanks for believing in me. I love this AU so much, and I'm so glad you made me do it! <3 
> 
> A special thanks especially to both Emily and [Allison](http://masterandcaptain.tumblr.com) for beta-ing and helping brainstorm, and another thank you to everyone else who has listened and given their thoughts about this AU along the way. No show would be complete without an amazing crew.

“New York, New York, a helluva town.  
The Bronx is up, but the Battery's down.  
The people ride in a hole in the groun'.  
New York, New York, it's a helluva town!”  
-“New York, New York,” _On the Town_  


When Grantaire first saw Enjolras, it was on posters pasted across a wall on the street as he was on his way to back to his studio. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, ignoring the woman jogging behind him, who glared at him as she passed for his sudden obstruction.

Enjolras' hair seemed to glow, his face too emitting a sort of light as his eyes blazed, as he stared out from underneath the bold type "RED & BLACK: A NEW MUSICAL." At the bottom of the poster, his name shone on the page in a slim serif font. Enjolras. The beginning of a daydream about Enjolras’ red lips was interrupted as Grantaire’s phone buzzed in his pocket. 

_"Shit!"_ He said when he saw the time, taking off at a breakneck speed down the street as he answered.

"So you do realize you're now an hour late?" came Eponine's wry voice at the other end of the call.

"Shit, shit, _shit_ did I miss–"

"I have managed to keep Ms. Fauchelevent entertained while you’ve been taking your sweet time. Gavroche got the lights set up so you just need to get your ass over here to shoot her head shots."

"You're a saint, Eponine, have I ever told you that?"

"Only every time you're late."

"I owe you a coffee."

"You may as well just get me a Starbucks Card at this point," Eponine sighed, though Grantaire could hear the hint of a smile in her voice. "Now hurry up!"

"I'm jaywalking! I'm jaywalking!"

The last thing Grantaire heard was Eponine's laugh before he shoved his phone in his pocket and dodged a few taxi cabs, arriving back at the photo studio in record time. 

Ms. Fauchelevent, or Cosette, as she asked to be called, was ridiculously photogenic. Her soft, light brown hair fell in soft curls down her back and a natural smile came easily and lit up her entire face. A half-hour later, and Grantaire had a memory card full of shots. 

"We're done! You can take a look at a few of them now, if you’d like." 

"Thank you," Cosette smiled graciously, “but I’d better get going.”

"Sorry about the wait," Grantaire said sheepishly as he flicked his camera screen off.

"It's no problem. I was wondering how I would spend the extra time I had this afternoon, and I haven’t seen Eponine since I graduated college. She always has the most interesting stories to tell. It was nice to catch up."

"Well, I’m sure of that,” Grantaire chuckled. “I'll send the proofs your way in the next few days."

Cosette nodded and exited quietly, giving Eponine a quick hug before she left. Eponine patted her back a bit awkwardly in return, but Grantaire couldn’t quite read her expression.

"Friend of yours?" Grantaire said, eyebrow raised. 

"Childhood friend."

_"Ms. Fauchelevent?"_

"You were late. You needed motivation."

“What would I do without you?”

“Starve, probably.”

Grantaire laughed as he began switching off the lights and putting away the camera gear.

“So, why were you late this time?”

Grantaire faltered, almost dropping the flash as he was taking off his camera. “I, uh, got distracted.” 

Eponine raised an eyebrow, not appeased by his response. “By?”

“A poster?”

“Of?”

“A musical?”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were a theatre person.”

“Well, I enjoy a good show as much as anybody, but it was more of the person on the poster...” he trailed off, not caring to and not quite sure how to elaborate.

“What, Enjolras?”

Grantaire’s face flushed. “Do you know him??”

Eponine laughed. “Only anybody even remotely interested in Broadway knows him! And I know your type,” Grantaire opened his mouth to protest, but Eponine cut him off. “Now hold on if you think you like him now, you _have_ to hear him sing.” With lighting fast speed, Eponine had a shakily framed Youtube video up on her laptop. “Here’s him singing Red  & Black’s act one finale, ‘Upon this Barricade.’”

Even after the video had ended and the next recommended video had begun to load, Grantaire’s mouth was still open in awe. Eventually, he spoke.

“That’s not _fair_ ,” he whined, flopping down on the couch, hand strewn dramatically over his face to accent his distress.

Eponine patted his head gingerly. “That’s Enjolras.”

*

As the months went by, Grantaire kept busy with his photography, with the help of Eponine doing more than her fair share to make _sure_ he stayed busy, but the talk of Red  & Black still grew. He’d never paid much attention to the shows of note on Broadway in years past, and at one point he said that he thought Wicked was a band, only to receive a long rant from Eponine that it most certainly was _not_. But the growing popularity of Red  & Black meant that Enjolras’ name and face seemed to be everywhere even more. It was as if the universe was tormenting him.

One Friday after a particularly grueling set of sessions the day before, Grantaire came in the studio to find an envelope tucked in his camera bag. Curious, he pulled it out and opened it.

“Hey, Eponine, do you know what this envelope is doing he–” then he stopped. Inside the envelope was a ticket. 

A ticket to Red & Black. 

He looked up to see Eponine leaning against the wall across from him. “Happy Birthday.”

“Eponine, my birthday isn’t for another four months.”

“Then Happy Friday. Geez.”

“Eponine, this is an _orchestra_ seat, Eponine...!”

“I have connections,” she smiled, with a twinkle in her eye. “So I hope you don’t have plans tomorrow night.”

“Well, I think The Walking Dead and bag of Doritos can wait for another night,” Grantaire said with a rather breathless laugh. “Thank you!”

“You can thank me by buying me a drink.”

“I can do that.”

*

The next night, Grantaire felt as nervous as if it were his own Broadway debut he was getting ready for. He had been on the phone with Eponine for at least two hours, desperately trying to figure out what to wear.

“It’s not like it’s a first date,” Eponine had laughed.

“Shut up.”

Eventually, he figured out which colors actually went together, dressed in a black blazer that only had a small stain on one sleeve, a dark green polo, his nicest pair of jeans, and his black converse, which were the only footwear he seemed to own besides sandals.

When the house lights went down, Grantaire was afraid his heart would jump out of his ribcage. The stage was dark, and then, a spotlight front and center on Enjolras, mere feet away from Grantaire. If his heart was beating in triple time before, now it had stopped. They knew what to do at theaters if someone went into cardiac arrest, right?

Then Grantaire could see Enjolras’ stomach rise through his ridiculously tight shirt as he took a breath, opened his mouth, and began to sing.

The rest of the show seemed like a dream. Grantaire’s eyes never left Enjolras, and at curtain call, he swore that their eyes met, and, Grantaire was probably hallucinating this part, but he swore that Enjolras gave him a small smile.

As he was gathering himself to leave, he heard a couple of girls behind him.

“What’s the fastest way to get to the stage door?”

“This way,” the other responded.

Stage door? Something stirred in Grantaire’s memory, Eponine had said something about that...

“I really hope Enjolras comes out!”

All it took was the mention of Enjolras and Grantaire was, hopefully casually, following the two girls out of the theater, to a small door separated from a growing crowd by metal barricades.

He found a spot close to the metal barricade placed by the stage door, a bit over and behind from the two girls he had followed there. He didn’t quite understand what was going on until the door opened and out came the man who had played Enjolras’ best friend, still a bit breathless and glasses slightly askew. He was holding a blue Sharpie and smiled as he approached the barricade and made conversation with those waiting there, signing their Playbills. Grantaire quickly reached into his back pocket and tried to straighten out his the best he could, hurriedly holding it out as the man came by. 

“So did you enjoy the show?” He said with a smile. Wow, was every Broadway actor ridiculously attractive?

It took a moment for Grantaire to realize the man was talking to him. “Y-yes! Thank you!”

“Thank you for coming,” the actor smiled.

Grantaire got the hang of the stage door after that and got signature after signature, amazed at the kindness of the actors, and how close they were. Twenty minutes or so must have passed when the crowd began to buzz.

“Do you know if Enjolras is coming out?” A mother asked the security guard standing on the other side of the barricade.

“I don’t know, but if he’s not out in the next few minutes, probably not.”

A few minutes came and passed and people murmured and left, but Grantaire lingered. 

Another ten minutes later, and his and those who remained’s patience was rewarded.

The door swung open and out came Enjolras. Grantaire didn’t know it was possible, but he was more beautiful and radiant than he ever could have imagined. Bits of makeup remained on his face, still dotted with sweat. As he made his way down the barricade, Grantaire thought his heart was going to pop out of his ribcage, it was racing so fast.

Then, Enjolras was there in front of him.

“I love you,” Grantaire blurted out. Enjolras looked up from signing Grantaire’s Playbill, with a red Sharpie, of course, and shit, his eyes were so _blue_. “I mean, your performance. I loved your performance,” he stumbled, the color of his face matching that of Enjolras’ Sharpie.

Enjolras gave a laugh, and seriously was this man perfect, even his _laugh_ was musical. “Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He gave Grantaire a smile that he was pretty sure would cure any disease and moved on to the next person. 

Grantaire stood there for a few minutes as the remaining fans began to leave, unable to take his eyes off of Enjolras, who eventually disappeared from his line of view and into the New York City streets.

When Grantaire finally looked down at his Playbill, he saw Enjolras’ signature, but then, below it, a phone number.

He stared at the number for a few moments before letting out a long breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. “New York really is a helluva town.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I can hear the bells,  
My head is spinning!  
I can hear the bells,  
Something’s beginning!”  
-”I Can Hear the Bells,” _Hairspray_

When Grantaire returned to the apartment he shared with Eponine, he knew he would be bombarded with questions. However, the cool night air had done nothing to calm his nerves. So when the questions came, he merely held out the slightly-crumpled Playbill and left her to deduce what she would.

“Is this whose number I think it is?”

“I hope it is, otherwise I am hallucinating or all of this has been a very vivid, _very_ good dream.”

Eponine gave a cry Grantaire could only describe as a “squee.” Under ordinary circumstances, he would have made fun of her, but these were not ordinary circumstances.

“Well?” She said, looking up from the Playbill at him.

“Well what?”

“When are you going to call him?”

“After I wake up and realize that this isn’t all a dream.”

With that, Eponine gave him a pinch on the arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You’re not dreaming,” Eponine said with a smirk.

Grantaire glared at her, rubbing the spot she’d pinched, which she pointedly ignored, before she trotted away gleefully up to her room. He hoisted himself up to pour himself a cold glass of water. The chill sent a shockwave through him, snapping him back to reality.

When he finally worked up the energy to move up the scaffold-like staircase to his own room, his mind was no longer in a fog, but a buzzing feeling coursed through his veins. He fell asleep more quickly than he had in months, dreaming of golden hair and blue eyes.

*

“Get up!” A chipper voice called, too close to Grantaire’s face.

“Mmm,” was his eloquent reply.

This noise was not satisfactory to the voice. Grantaire gave an “Ow!” as the voice’s body flopped on top of him.

“Geeeeeeet. Uuuuuuuup,” Gavroche slurred.

“I’m getting, I’m getting,” Grantaire groaned.

“You said you’d take me around Central Park today,” Gavroche persisted.

“Today does not start,” Grantaire lazily opened one blue eye to see the time. 8AM. What was it with kids? “Until at _least_ 9:30.”

The weight on top of him was lifted and Grantaire gave a happy sleepy noise as he burrowed into his pillow again. All of a sudden, the room was flooded with light.

“The sun says otherwise!” Gavroche beamed, his smile bright as the sun streaming into Grantaire’s cluttered bedroom and just as annoying to Grantaire in his attempts to fall back asleep.

“I don’t know how Eponine puts up with this,” Grantaire moaned, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, hearing a few of his joints crack as he stretched. “I’m an old man, Gav, you gotta give me some time.”

Gavroche shrugged. “I’m just going to raid your kitchen until you get ready,” and with that he was off, his mission accomplished.

“Hey! Don’t eat the rest of my Fruit Loops!” Grantaire called futilely. He scratched his unruly curls and sighed. “I guess I need to go to the store anyway.” 

He threw on some clothes that appeared to be clean (and if they weren’t, at least they didn’t smell). When he padded out of the room, sure enough, Gavroche was munching on the last of his Fruit Loops, so he grabbed a granola bar instead. 

“Nice shirt, where’d you get it?” Eponine asked over her mug of coffee coyly.

Grantaire looked down instinctively, though he knew exactly what it was and who had gotten it for him. It was one of his more worn t-shirts, emblazoned with a camera and text that read “I’d like to shoot you,” one of Eponine’s punnier Christmas gifts. He simply rolled his eyes in response.

He barely had time to finish off the last of the orange juice (drunk straight from the bottle, eliciting an ‘ew’ from Gavroche and a ‘hey!’ from Eponine), let alone grab his camera, before the kid was dragging him out the door and down the stairs, taking them two at a time. A few subway stops later, and the pair were making their way into Central Park. It was a brisk spring day, warm enough that he was perfectly comfortable in jeans and t-shirt. 

“Alright then Gav, where do you want to go?”

Gavroche’s face scrunched in concentration, and Grantaire imagined his mind darting back and forth over an invisible map of the park.

“This way!” And for the second of many times that day, Grantaire could hardly keep up with the elementary schooler, and he wasn’t exactly out of shape. When Gavroche finally stopped, Grantaire had to take a moment to catch his breath. Some tourists were giving them strange looks as Gavroche rolled his eyes. “C’moooon, we’re here!”

Grantaire looked up. “Belvedere Castle?” 

“Belvedere Castle!” Gavroche repeated, striking a pose that sent the Canon Rebel camera at his side swinging dangerously.

“Whatever you want,” Grantaire sighed, straightening up and cracking his neck before swinging his camera around to mess with his settings. Meanwhile, Gavroche bounced off and Grantaire vaguely wondered why he even bothered coming. But then something caught his eye: a blond man examining a turtle by the edge of the lake. 

Grantaire’s fingers began to itch, his mind framing the image, finger adjusting the shutter speed to compensate for the reflection off of the water, and click. 

After taking the shot, the man’s head turned and – it wasn’t Enjolras. Of course it wouldn’t be Enjolras, why would Enjolras be here, oh my God he had Enjolras’ phone number or was that a dream? Fuck, it wasn’t a dream was it?

“Grantaire!”

Grantaire jumped.

“Check out these shots I got!” 

Gavroche, of course it was Gavroche. Ignoring his racing heart, he took the proffered camera, shielded the tiny screen from glare and examined the photos Gavroche showed him.

“These look good! Alright so for this one though, you could play with your settings, ‘cause your ISO doesn’t need to be that high on a day like today...” 

The rest of the morning and a a couple hours of the afternoon passed in a blur of shutter clicks. Around 1 o’clock, the two agreed to head back, because man cannot live on Fruit Loops and granola bars alone, and more importantly, Gavroche had somehow managed to fill his entire 4GB SD card with photos of squirrels and tourists taken from angles only he could come up with. At one point, Grantaire didn’t know if he was more in fear for Gavroche’s life or his camera’s as he hung upside down from a tree. (It was a legitimate conundrum: the camera would not have survived the fall and Gavroche always seemed to land on his feet, like a cat.) 

As the two walked back, munching on some gyros from a street vendor, a bus emblazoned with an advertisement for Red & Black passed and Grantaire almost choked on his lamb mid-sentence. 

Gavroche, never one for tact, cut straight to the chase. “So when are you going to call Enjolras?” Grantaire then launched into a coughing fit, face turning purple at the mention.

Clearing his throat at last, Grantaire mustered a few words. “Well, I mean I will. Eventually. Probably.”

“Probably?” Gavroche came to a halt, blocking Grantaire’s path now. 

“Hey, it’s none of your business, kid. Someday you’ll understand.”

Gavroche scoffed. “I don’t need ‘someday’ to understand what’s going on. You’re scared aren’t you? You could just text him, you know.”

“That’s beside the point. And I’m not–” Grantaire floundered. “I’m not _scared_. I just. Well. I just want to be realistic, you know?”

“What about the fact that he gave _you_ his number, of all the people who bombard him with letters and chocolates and flowers and other ridiculous things? That makes you think he has no interest in you?”

“Flowers, really? Does he like flowers? Should I have brought flowers?”

Gavroche sighed and fell back next to Grantaire, urging him along to start walking again. “Well, if you think he isn’t interested, you’re wrong. Don’t argue, I’ve watched you and Eponine long enough to learn _some_ things. And besides.”

“Besides?”

“You’d be an idiot to think Eponine would ever let you even consider _not_ calling him.”

Grantaire’s face paled at phantom images of Eponine’s rage. “Yeah, good point...”

Gavroche laughed. Before they knew it, they were back at the studio. 

“You comin’ up?”

Gavroche shrugged. “I’ve got better things to do than watch you stare at your phone.”

“Point taken.” Before Gavroche could duck away, Grantaire reached over and mussed up his hair.

“Heeeeey!”

“Thanks, Gav,” Grantaire said with a small smile.

Gavroche gave a tiny smirk in reply, patting down his hair. “Good luck with your boyfriend.” And with that he was off, leaving no time for Grantaire to stutter out a denial. He gave a small sigh at Gavroche’s petit figure disappearing into the crowd, and turned to go back up to the studio.

Fear was a powerful motivator, yes, but Gavroche had given him a more poignant one: hope.

*

Grantaire had heard in some survey class years ago that hope was a thing with feathers. He wondered if that thing with feathers could type in Enjolras’ phone number, because he sure couldn’t. 

“Grantaire.” He turned, and saw Eponine, hands on hips, face thoroughly unamused. 

“Yes?”

“Type. The damn. Number.”

“I’m working on it! I’m trying to figure out if this is a one or a seven...”

Eponine continued to glare at him. “If you don’t do it, I will.”

Grantaire narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“Would I?”

He was not willing to test Eponine, so did the most logical thing and fled to his room, which he shut the door, locked it, flopped down on his bed, and continued to stare from phone to Playbill.

“Okay, that’s definitely not a seven, it’s a one. But I could be wrong. I could get the wrong number entirely.” Then, he thought of Enjolras’ smile. His face, still sporting bits of makeup. His voice, a rich tenor. His eyes, blue, framed by a few crinkles caused by his smile.

Fuck it.

He took up his phone and typed in the number, and pressed call. His heart hammered in his chest as the phone rang and – went straight to voicemail.

Grantaire could hear himself internally screaming as he fought to string together a coherent message. 

“Hi, you’ve reached Enjolras! Sorry I can’t answer the phone right now, but leave a message and I will get back to you later.” _Beep._

“Umm...” _Off to a great start there, Grantaire._ “Hi Enjolras, it’s me, uh, Grantaire. From the stage door last night. Friday night. Yeah. Umm I just wanted to see you. I mean see if you wanted to meet up sometime! So yeah. Just uh, feel free to call me. Whenever. Have a great day!”

And he hung up. 

“‘Have a great day?’ Real smooth, Grantaire,” he groaned to himself, as he stared at the phone and at the time and. Wait. 2:35. He’d called right in the middle of act one of the Saturday matinee. It was a good thing he wasn’t closer to the wall or he would’ve banged his head against it.

Then he began to panic. He unlocked his bedroom door and bolted out of the room, looking wildly for Eponine. She was lounging on the couch, reading some book or another.

“Eponine!”

“Grantaire!” She mimicked back at him, not looking up from her book.

“I called him during the show.”

“Ayy, good for you!”

“No Eponine I called him during the show. What if I messed everything up. Like, could the mics pick up my call. Oh my god what if they did. The phrase ‘have a great day’ will be written on my tombstone. I will never live this down.”

“Whoa, there, I don’t know what you’re talking about, slow down, take a deep breath and sit down.” Eponine snapped her book shut. “So. You called. What happened.”

“It went directly to voicemail.”

“Which means...?”

“His phone was probably off. Oh.”

“I might not be a tech expert, but I’m pretty sure you’re freaking out over nothing.”

Grantaire sat there speechless for a moment. There was a strange zen to the realization. “I called him.”

“You did,” Eponine smiled. “And now you get to wait for him to call you back.”

In Grantaire’s mind, the hours spent waiting for Enjolras to call him back felt like waiting for Godot. He half expected Gavroche to show up and say, “Enjolras told me to tell you that he will not call you back tonight, but he definitely will tomorrow.”

This was, of course, as Eponine had pointed out, ridiculous. “You shouldn’t use _any_ surrealist work as the basis for reality. There’s a reason it’s called the theatre of the absurd.”

“Funny, because I think you’re pretty absurd on a daily basis. Hey, don’t throw that mug at me, ‘Ponine! Think of the camera!”

The rest of the Saturday went on like any other, and Grantaire was kept occupied with the couple of customers they had scheduled for the late afternoon. He was, admittedly, more distracted than usual. He made sure to show the first young woman who came in the photos he had taken of her on his computer, after he had begun her session with the lens cap still on his camera. He was still shooting just as well, but if he had taken a few extra shots because he jumped whenever he thought he heard his phone buzz, it wasn’t like he was wasting film.

With the appointments done for the day, he went to check his phone. No messages, just a dozen or so Snapchats from Eponine. He looked up at her and she grinned.

“It was too much fun to see you jump every time your phone went off.”

“Traitor,” Grantaire grumbled, placing the phone carefully next to his laptop as he started editing photos. He glanced up at the time: 6:00. Enjolras would be getting ready for the evening’s show. He didn’t expect him to call back before it, but...

This wait was going to kill him.

It was approaching 11:30 and Grantaire, a night owl to begin with and definitely not getting any sleep unless this call came, was still waiting, but now back at the apartment, staring at his computer screen. It had gotten to the point where he was trying to distract himself by playing with the hue and saturation slider on a long-done-being-edited portrait when his phone began to ring. He did a doubletake: was it _actually_ ringing this time? No, that was his number. Holy shit, that was _Enjolras’ number._ _Enjolras_ was calling _him._

Hands shaking only slightly, Grantaire picked up the phone and sprinted to the nearest room, which, of course, happened to be the bathroom. But if he saw Eponine give him any Looks during the call, he knew he would lose it. He swiftly closed and locked the door and hit “answer.”

“Hello?” He said in his best attempt at nonchalance.

“Hello, this is Enjolras.”

Fuck, even on the _phone_ his _speaking_ voice was angelic.

“Yeah.” Eloquent as ever, Grantaire.

Enjolras gave a light laugh. Grantaire felt like he was going to have a heart attack. Jesus. “Well, I’m glad you know who I am, and you must excuse me, because I cannot confess to having ever well... done this before.”

“Oh, shit, yeah, you don’t know who I am,” Grantaire blurted out.

“That’s one way to put it, yes,” Enjolras said smoothly, though Grantaire thought he could hear restrained laughter in his voice.

“Well, I’m Grantaire.”

“Grantaire.” He felt a flush spread all over him and was glad Enjolras couldn’t see him. How did he make just his name sound so...musical? “So, well, ah, when were you thinking of um, ‘hanging out’?”

Grantaire grimaced at his word choice. “Yeah, sorry, I’m not the best on the phone. At things like calls. And life.”

“Don’t worry, it was cute.” That’s it, Grantaire was going to die, right there, right then. Cause of death: Enjolras. “But if you wanted to go out somewhere, you can meet me at the theater Monday afternoon?”

“Yeah. That would be good. Maybe around one?” 

“I’m going over some things with our director, but we’re dark Mondays so I will most certainly be done by then. If I’m not in the lobby, Marius can show you in.”

Grantaire’s head was spinning. It would be a miracle if he remembered any of this. “Okay, so Monday. One o’clock.”

“Monday, one o’clock,” Enjolras repeated. “It’s a date.” 

Grantaire’s breathe caught in his throat. “I’ll see you then.”

“I look forward to meeting you properly, Grantaire.”

It was a good thing that Enjolras hung up first, otherwise Grantaire would have stayed on the line forever. His head was spinning. 

He, Grantaire, small-time photographer, had a date with Enjolras, Broadway star (and, if the rumors were to be trusted, future Tony nominee).

If he heard Eponine singing “I Can Hear the Bells” outside the bathroom door, he was in too much of a daze to come up with a retort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two, AKA, Grantaire gets advice from an elementary schooler! But in all seriousness, Gavroche knows Grantaire as well as Eponine does, and he can tell when he's nervous, even when Grantaire doesn't quite know it... I love their little photo adventures, based in part by my brief wanderings in Central Park. ^^
> 
> As for why Grantaire doesn't text Enjolras, the way I saw it was it's a lot easier for someone to ignore/forget to answer a text message than a phone call, and in Grantaire's head it seemed to be the Right Way to contact Enjolras. Even though phone calls are usually awful, in my opinion...! So there is some anxiety/insecurity at work in Grantaire's head, but luckily he has a support group who's there for him. But hey, we live in a postmodern world, so interpret it as you like! <3
> 
> Also, not every chapter will begin and end with the same song, it just has happened to work out that way for these first two lol. And as always, feel free to come say hi on Tumblr, I'm on there as [vivelarepublique](http://vivelarepublique.tumblr.com) as well!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double show is double the fun...or in this case, double the fic! A blizzard on the East Coast means being snowed in (and no NYC/BroadwayCon trip :c) for me, but fic for you! My loss is your gain; for anyone else trapped in the storm, stay safe, stay warm, and for everyone, enjoy some extra fic. :)

“I don’t know you,  
But I want you  
All the more for that.  
Words fall through me  
And always fool me  
And I can’t react.”  
-”Falling Slowly,” _Once_  


Sunday seemed to drag on indefinitely, but finally, _finally_ , Monday came.

“It’s a good thing your date is in the afternoon. I don’t think you could make it until evening,” Eponine quipped lightly over a breakfast of French toast, one of her specialities. 

Grantaire looked up from his plate, trying to eat, but his nerves getting the better of his appetite at the moment. “Is it that obvious?”

“What, that you are most definitely pining over and so much in love with a man you’ve only really met once?”

“Yeah that.”

Eponine gave a sigh. “You kids these days.”

“Eponine I’m older than you by almost a year.”

“Age is just a number.” Eponine huffed, directing her attention back to her plate.

Grantaire shook his head, smiling himself. “Thanks again, ‘Ponine.”

“Hey, you already paid me back with that drink. But if things go well this afternoon, you definitely owe me another.”

“And if they don’t go well?”

“They will,” Eponine smiled at him, one of the rare ones where her eyes twinkled ever so slightly. “Now go get dressed! It’ll take you five years and I can’t stick around forever to make sure you match your blues and blacks!”

“It was one time!” But Grantaire smiled, put his dishes in the sink and went to conquer his closet.

He ended up in basically the same outfit he had worn to see the show, only this time he chose to wear one of his favorite flannel shirts, again in a dark green. Eponine gave a small nod of approval, standing up and striding over to Grantaire to straighten his collar. With an affectionate tap of her index finger on his nose, she declared him presentable.

“Only presentable?”

“If you want me to call you the next Don Juan or something you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“One day you will be won over by my terrible puns and scruff.”

“Yeah, yeah, save it for Enjolras.” Eponine smiled. “Have a great time, R.”

“Thanks.” And with a small smile and a spring in his step from the adrenaline, Grantaire stepped out the apartment door and headed off towards the theater. 

*

Going in the stage door felt too weird, and way too familiar, at this point, so Grantaire opted for the regular theater entrance. A feeling of déjà vu washed over him as he stepped through the door. Though, considering he _had_ just been there on Friday, he supposed that it was less déjà vu and more a growing familiarity. With any luck, he would grow a lot more familiar with the theater and the actors who performed in it. Well, one actor in particular.

“Um, excuse me, are you Grantaire?” An usher asked him. His black hair fell haphazardly around his face, and the man brushed it out of his eyes as if to get a better look at Grantaire.

“Uh, yes that’s me.”

A pink flush spread across the man’s face as he grinned. “Ah, Grantaire! Right this way! Enjolras told me to expect you!”

“Oh, then, you’re...Marius, right?”

“Ah, how terribly rude of me... I didn’t even introduce myself... Yes, Mr. Grantaire, I’m Marius! Marius Pontmercy!”

“Just Grantaire’s fine,” Grantaire smiled at the flustered man. “And nice to meet you.”

“Alright, then you can just follow me...”

Marius lead Grantaire through an inconspicuous-looking door off of the lobby and the entered a long and narrow hallway. 

“Mind your head,” Marius piped. “And next time, feel free to just give a knock on the stage door and someone’ll let you in!”

“Will do...” Grantaire murmured, taking care not to step on Marius as they walked. For an usher, the guy didn’t seem too steady on his feet, and Grantaire did _not_ want to worry about a trip to the emergency room on his first date. Soon enough, the two of them reached a series of dressing rooms, each numbered and labelled with actors’ names. Some doors had pictures or other random objects stuck to them. The oddest one was room 14, where either “Courfeyrac” or “Combeferre” had duct taped a small teddy bear to the door.

Eventually, they reached room 9, which was emblazoned with only one name: Enjolras.

“Here you go!” Marius said cheerily, and before Grantaire could say anything, he turned and the usher was gone. All he could do now was face the door and knock. He gathered all of his determination and gave three short knocks on the door.

“Come on in, Grantaire!” The response came so soon, Grantaire jumped a little. He took a few deep breaths, and opened the door.

Enjolras’ room was smaller than Grantaire had thought the star of show’s would be, but not unpleasantly so. Enjolras kept it clean, and had a few Playbills from different show taped to his mirror, as well as what looked like a cast photo. 

Enjolras himself was pulling his hair back into a low ponytail, grinning at Grantaire’s reflection in the mirror before turning around to face him. Grantaire’s heart caught in his throat. 

“Thanks for coming to meet me.”

“Thanks for calling me back.”

Enjolras laughed. “I’m glad I did.” A flush spread over Grantaire’s face, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a similar blush tinged Enjolras’ cheeks as well. “So, do you have any place in mind to go? It’s been...a while since I’ve been on a date, so I’m a bit rusty.”

“What? You? Really?” Grantaire blurted out. He really did have a penchant for doing that around Enjolras.

Enjolras shrugged. “Never felt like it. Never seemed the right time, the right person. But enough about my dull past. What’s next for us here in the present?”

Grantaire had actually written various ideas out on his phone and he was glad he did, because when Enjolras looked at him like that, he forgot his own name. He fumbled in his pockets for a moment and pulled out a battered iPhone. “Sorry, sorry... Um, I was thinking we could go to the Met?”

Enjolras gave a slight tilt of his head. “The Opera?”

“No, no,” Grantaire said waving his hands a bit more than necessary. He supposed Eponine was right and he did do that when he was nervous, huh. “The Metropolitan Museum of Art!”

A flicker of recognition registered in Enjolras’ eyes. “Oh, yes! I’ve always meant to go, but never quite gotten there.”

“You _have_ to see the Met,” Grantaire said emphatically. “It’s...You just have to see it. It’s amazing.”

“Well then, let’s go!” Enjolras replied with a smile, and they were off.

*

Grantaire rode the subway nearly every day; that was not odd. What was odd was that he was doing so sitting next to Enjolras, when he had so often sat there alone wondering if maybe, in some great Manhattan miracle, Enjolras would be in the same car as him.

If only his past self could see him now.

Enjolras was not one for conversation on public transit, but Grantaire was fine with that, as he was busy focusing most of his attention on trying not to yelp every time their knees or thighs brushed as the car rattled on and rounded corners. He was glad Enjolras stood up a good while before they reached their destination, or else Grantaire would have exhausted himself analyzing every random bit of contact.

“So I assume you’ve been to the Met before?” Enjolras began, as they climbed the stairs up from the station. 

“I may as well be one of their sponsors at this point.” Enjolras laughed and Grantaire couldn’t help but grin. “So um, now we can either take a bus, or walk through Central Park.”

“Today’s the perfect day to walk through the park. I don’t walk around this part of the city nearly enough.”

The way through the park was hilly and winding, but Enjolras didn’t seem to mind, much to Grantaire’s relief. 

“It’s funny,” Grantaire began, “But I was just here shooting the other day and well–”

“Wait, you hunt? What do you shoot?” Enjolras had stopped walking mid-stride. 

“Well, people, mostly.” Grantaire blinked.

 _“People?”_ Enjolras’ eyes grew wide.

“Oh, _oh._ Shit. I mean, no. Wait. I’m a photographer. I shoot _photos! Photos_ of _people!”_

Enjolras let out a sigh of relief, hand on his heart. “Oh thank God. For a moment, I thought one of Courfeyrac’s jokes had become a reality and I had actually gone on a date with a serial killer.”

“No, no, no! The only thing I kill are bugs! And that’s only sometimes! I usually let them outside!”

Enjolras laughed and the two began walking again, Grantaire leading them through one of the park’s gates to the sidewalk around it. “So a photographer who’s kind to bugs and _doesn’t_ kill people?”

“That’s me.”

“Well, maybe I’ll get you to do my next set of headshots then.”

“I could do that,” Grantaire said, almost breathless at the idea. Luckily, they had reached their destination. “And ta-da! Welcome to the Met!”

“Oh wow,” Enjolras said, gaping slightly. The tall, imposing white pillars of the museum seemed to glisten slightly, and the steps leading up to the structure were scattered with tourists and street musicians. 

“Let’s go get in line.” Grantaire unconsciously held his hand out for Enjolras to follow him, and didn’t know what he expected, but it was most certainly not for Enjolras to take his hand and lace their fingers together. It took all of his concentration to put one foot in front of the other to get to the museum entrance.

As they waited, Enjolras grabbed a map. “Where should we go first? I grabbed a map.”

“Is there anything in particular you’d like to see?”

“Well I don’t really know much about art.” Enjolras unfolded the map and studied it a moment. Grantaire’s heart beat a bit faster. Oh God, what if he didn’t like Van Gogh? He had to like Van Gogh. Who didn’t like Van Gogh? He was so lost in thought, he almost missed Enjolras talking. “–I’d like to see the 19th- and Early 20th-Century European collections.” He paused, still examining the pamphlet closely. “And the Modern and Contemporary art.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow, but internally let out a small sigh of almost-relief. “Should I have taken you to the MoMA? Warhol and Dali more your speed? You like to chill with Frida Khalo on weekends? Or do you just need your daily dose of pointillism?"

“Now you’re just showing off.”

“Hey, I watched you show off.”

“Yeah?”

“For two and a half hours.”

“Two hours and fifteen minutes, there was an intermission,” Enjolras corrected.

“And I _paid_ to do it.”

“So then that means you should let me buy your ticket today.”

“Wait, what?”

“Well, this is a date. Let me pay for your ticket.”

Grantaire blinked, trying to find words. “Um, well, okay.”

“Perfect.” Enjolras smiled warmly.

“Then I should be your guide for the day. It’s only fair.”

“I’d like that.”

“Next!”

A woman at the admissions counter snapped the pair back into reality.

“Be right back,” Enjolras grinned. As Enjolras went to get their tickets, Grantaire let their hands fall apart. He used the brief moment when Enjolras’ back was to him to make sure his palm wasn’t too sweaty and to take some deep breaths. Hand holding. Enjolras buying his ticket. They were on a date! Perfectly normal!

“Next,” another smiling woman said behind the counter. It took Grantaire a split second to realize that he wasn’t in line. He turned around to see Enjolras once more, the blond looking in awe around the hall. Nope, this wasn’t getting any less surreal. He stepped next to Enjolras, taking the proffered ticket from his hand.

He gulped as Enjolras’ gaze shifted back to him. “You have to put it on your shirt. The sticker,” he managed to get out, peeling the sticker off of his ticket as he spoke.

“Oh, okay!” Enjolras did as Grantaire instructed. 

“Do you like ancient art?”

“Don’t know much about it, to be honest.”

“Well, you can’t come to the Met and _not_ see the Temple of Dendur. Ooh, and the Wave. We can swing by the prints. They’re right by the photography stuff, too.”

Enjolras looked back down at the map, brow furrowed, as he attempted to locate where everything was. “Combeferre has always been better with maps,” he huffed. 

“Combeferre?”

“My roommate,” Enjolras sighed, looking dejectedly at the map. 

Grantaire nodded and pointed to where they were on the map for him. “Well, we’re right by the Ancient Egypt. We can loop around from there to get to 19th and Early 20th stuff, and then make our way upstairs from there.”

Enjolras carefully folded the map back up and tucked it into his pocket. And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he slipped his hand back into Grantaire’s. “Lead the way,” he smiled.

Grantaire gulped. Okay, art. Museums. Very familiar things. His favorite things. With Enjolras. Okay, maybe that train of thought was not helping very much. He felt his face flush as he lead Enjolras deftly through the crowd, and they made their way into the exhibit. 

Grantaire pretended to look at the artifacts, interjecting with various quips and facts from his college art history courses as they went, but his attention always returned to Enjolras, who seemed fascinated by each new piece. Grantaire thought he could look at his face forever.

“How did they get this hippo so blue?” Enjolras said, almost gawking through a glass case at a small hippopotamus.

“Ah, William!” Grantaire grinned.

“William?”

“He’s sort of the Met’s unofficial mascot,” Grantaire gave the little statue an affectionate wave. “And the blue-green color comes from a glaze they put on it.” He cleared his throat and straightened up, putting on his best art historian voice, “It’s a fine example of Egyptian faience from the Middle Kingdom period.”

Now Enjolras straightened up and raised an eyebrow at him, the corner of his mouth slightly raised in amusement. 

“Ancient Egyptian art was one of my favorite classes in college,” Grantaire said, trying not to blush, and unconsciously giving Enjolras’ hand an affectionate squeeze as he did so. Enjolras blinked in surprise but gave a small squeeze back.

At this rate, Grantaire’s grave would read “Death by holding Enjolras’ hand.”

The two continued through the exhibit hand-in-hand until they reached a large open area, where Enjolras most definitely started gaping. “Is that?”

“The Temple of Dendur.”

The Temple stood in the middle of a huge room, at its front a vast pool of water, and on one side, floor to ceiling windows offering a view into Central Park. The room always had that sort of lighting that made Grantaire itch to take photos. The two meandered around the water to the temple itself.

“This is _amazing,”_ Enjolras breathed.

“Do you want a photo in front of it?” Grantaire asked, half out of habit, half wanting to not be creepy and just take photos of Enjolras without asking. 

Enjolras seemed to stumble over his words for a moment, “Well, I mean, uh...”

“You don’t have to,” Grantaire felt his face burning.

“I mean, maybe we could get a photo together?” Enjolras blurted out at last.

“Oh. _Oh.”_

An young woman, a teenager by the looks of it, seemed to hear them from where she was chatting with her friend. “Do you want me to take your guys’ photo?”

“Yeah, yeah that would be great,” Grantaire said, quickly adjusting the camera’s settings before handing it over.

The girl smiled and took the camera as Grantaire and Enjolras awkwardly positioned themselves in front of the monument and smiled. “Alright, one, two, three!” Click. “Okay, just a couple more just in case!” _Click, click, click._ “And there you go!” She carefully handed the camera back to Grantaire. “You two make a cute couple.”

“T-thanks,” Grantaire stuttered. “For the photos! And the compliment. Enjoy the rest of the museum!” And with an awkward wave from Grantaire and an enthusiastic one from her, the girl was gone.

After a brief moment, Enjolras spoke. “Can I see the photos?”

“Oh, yeah sure!” Grantaire fumbled with the camera. “Here, just gotta press this button here and, ta-da!”

Enjolras smiled looking at the screen. Grantaire smiled looking at Enjolras. “We do look cute.”

Grantaire was at a loss for words, so just clicked through the rest of the photos, and then cleared his throat, letting the camera fall back along his side. “So, where to next?”

Enjolras shrugged, “Wherever you think is best. You seem to know your way around.” He gave a small smile at that, the skin around his eyes crinkling slightly.

Grantaire had to keep from pinching himself. How was it this _celebrity_ (yeah, yeah, Eponine would say he wasn’t a Hollywood star, Grantaire would say he just wasn’t yet) even giving him the _time of day_ let alone letting him _take him around Grantaire’s favorite museum?_

The two made their way back through the hall to the Greek and Roman exhibit, Grantaire leading the way. They walked past rows of amphorae and kraters, Enjolras stopping to examine an especially-impressive looking marble lion, to marvel at the intricacy of tiny statuettes. When they reached a statue of the head of a Greek youth, Grantaire stopped and gave a hum. Enjolras looked over at him.

“What is it?”

Grantaire blinked, gaze shifting from Enjolras to the statue.

“Is there something on my face?” Enjolras flushed, hand flying to his cheek.

At the movement, Grantaire was brought back to reality. “Oh, no! No it’s just... you are a spitting image of that statue.” He was only half joking.

Enjolras turned to look at it. In profile, the likeness was even more stunning. Grantaire’s breath caught in his throat. 

“I don’t see it,” Enjolras’ head tilted to the side, where something caught his eye. “Ooh, what’s that over there?” And with that, he was wandering over towards a giant krater. Grantaire shook his head and followed, an awed smile playing at the corners of his lips. “This isn’t exactly what I think of in terms of Greek pottery,” Enjolras said, eyeing the pottery quizzically. 

“Well that’s probably because it’s from a couple hundred years before what you would usually consider ‘Greek’ pottery’”

The two wandered onwards, making their way past cases of amphorae. As they did, Grantaire almost had to pinch himself seeing his and Enjolras’ reflections next to each other in the glass. 

They moved quickly through the 19th and 20th century collections, Grantaire itching to get to the impressionists. Before they got there, they made a stop at the prints.

“The Great Wave!”

“Oh, I know this one!” Enjolras’ eyes lit up as he pointed a finger towards it excitedly. 

Grantaire grinned. “Yeah, it’s a good one.” The prints began to give way to more of a mélange of photos and prints as they walked.

“Okay, so, mister photographer, what do you think of these photos?” Enjolras inquired. 

To Grantaire, the photos in question could most accurately be described as “artsy.” This was not a specific description, but it was the most accurate one. Grantaire considered it a moment. “Very artsy.” 

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “ _Very_ artsy?”

“Yeah, the low shutter speed gives them that blur, but they still have a defined focal point, using line to draw you in. Hmm. And then they’re black and white prints.”

“And black and white means artsy?”

“Or hipster, depending on your point of view. But given they are in a museum, I’d say they’re artsy.”

“You sure you’re a photographer?”

“I don’t carry around this six thousand dollar camera just for show.”

“Six thousand?!” Enjolras gaped at the black, slightly battered camera.

“Yup.” Grantaire sighed. “One of the necessities of the trade.”

The rest of the prints section passed in a series of questions from Enjolras about how much camera gear a photographer really needed (“A lot.”) and how they even could afford to buy all that gear (“Loans.” “You’re joking.” “I wish I were. My camera has better insurance than I do.”). 

They finally reached the Impressionist art and Grantaire’s heart rate picked up again. The moment of truth was imminent. Well, if anything, Enjolras didn’t seem bored. Grantaire figured that was a good sign, right?

“Well, Grantaire, we’ve been in this museum for an hour and I haven’t even asked who your favorite artist is.”

Grantaire faltered a moment. “Well, it’s really tough to choose just one, but if I had to, it would be Van Gogh. Typical choice, I know. But there’s just something about the brush strokes.”

Enjolras smiled. “I thought you’d like Van Gogh.”

“Do you?”

“I’m more of a Delacroix person. But how can anyone not like Van Gogh?”

Grantaire’s heart beat a little faster, but he let out a sigh of relief internally. Enjolras was transfixed by the Van Goghs, especially his paintings of sunflowers. Grantaire gulped, seeing the golden-haired man transfixed by the golden canvas.

“His sunflowers are some of my favorites,” he blurted, pulling Enjolras out of his almost trance-like concentration.

Enjolras blinked. “Hm?” Then, Grantaire’s question seemed to reach his brain. “Oh, yeah. I usually like portraits more, but something about his flower paintings… They have such _life.”_

Grantaire had to restrain himself from grinning. Excitement bubbled up in his chest. Talking with the guy he liked about the art he loved… If he had seams, Grantaire would be bursting at them.

“Yeah, yeah, they do,” he managed to get out.

They milled about the room a bit more when Enjolras spotted the portrait of Van Gogh. Some people were taking photos next to it, others pointing enthusiastically at the melancholic painter. When they got close enough the get a good view of the painting, Grantaire ducked beside it, doing his best Van Gogh impression.

“See any resemblance?” Grantaire joked. Enjolras seemed to consider the jest thoughtfully however, tilting his head to one side.

“Your eyes,” he said, a shy smile pulling at the corner of his mouth and a slight flush spreading over the bridge of his nose. “You both have very blue eyes.”

Grantaire almost tripped and fell in the middle of the exhibit. Some deity somewhere must have been smiling on him though, as he managed to extricate himself from his Van Gogh pose with a surprisingly amount of grace. He did, however, stumble with his words. “I- well, um, I-” Now Grantaire was most certainly also flushed. “Thank you,” he finally managed.

Enjolras laced his fingers in Grantaire’s again and squeezed his hand with a smile.

*

The rest of the date, Grantaire felt as if he were walking on air. He and Enjolras left the Met and parted ways at the subway station– Enjolras had to meet some fancy star somewhere at some fancy place, or so Grantaire inferred. He would have been jealous, but before they parted ways, Enjolras leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“See you again soon?” Enjolras said, almost tentative. A glimpse of white teeth showed as he bit his lower lip. Tentative? Enjolras? About Grantaire? Was this a simply an incredibly vivid, wonderful dream?

“Yeah,” he replied. “Just tell me where and when and I’ll be there.” His cheek was still warm from where Enjolras’ lips had brushed it. They had been slightly chapped and all Grantaire wanted to know now was how they felt against his own lips.

Enjolras laughed. Grantaire had forgotten what he’d said. Luckily, Enjolras spoke. “You can stop by before the show sometime this week. I get there early and wait around until curtain, so I’ll be there pretty much all afternoon.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, blushing. “Yeah. Yeah I can do that. My schedule is ridiculously flexible.”

Enjolras smiled broadly. “I look forward to it.” As he turned to walk away, Grantaire resisted the urge to jump up and punch the air. It was a good thing he did, as Enjolras turned back around, his ponytail flipping behind him dramatically. “Oh, and Grantaire?”

“Yeah?” Grantaire said for what seemed like the millionth time.

“Text me.”

Grantaire nodded, mouth slightly parted. He ignored the harried New Yorkers bustling past him and the oblivious tourists bumping into him as he watched Enjolras’ figure go down the stairway and turn the corner into the station, out of sight.

(Then Grantaire let himself jump up and punch the air.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Metropolitan Museum of Art is one of my favorite if not my favorite museum, and all the pieces mentioned are some of my faves. :) [William](http://www.metmuseum.org/collection/the-collection-online/search/544227) is also this fic's unofficial mascot – I have a plush version of him that is super adorable! <3 I learned about him (and some on the other ancient art pieces in the Met) in an art history class I was taking around the time I wrote this, so Grantaire's comments are actually pretty accurate! :) And of course, it wouldn't be an E/R date in a museum without even a vague Enjolras-looks-like-a-Greek-statue reference ;)
> 
> And if I had a dollar for every time I talked about shooting people photographically and my dad/brother made a joke about me literally shooting people... I would be a very rich person. But I've also confused many a non-photog with this phrase, and poor Enjolras is not above such confusion himself!
> 
> Your comments so far have been so sweet, thank you all so much for any and all thoughts you have! <3 And as always, I am on Tumblr at [vivelarepublique](http://vivelarepublique.tumblr.com) if you want to say hi. ^^


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of tag additions and new characters, this chapter, hooray!!! Also just a heads up that there is a ghost story this chapter, a short one, but if that stuff gives you the creeps, just wanted to let you know that it is there! ^^

“How ‘bout a dance  
Let's make a start  
Music like this  
Can really throw ya  
You'll lose the blues  
And you may lose your heart”  
-”How ‘Bout a Dance,” _Bonnie & Clyde_  


There were many times, innumerable times, throughout his life that Grantaire was grateful for Eponine. In fact, more often than not, Grantaire was in a perpetual state of Eponine Gratitude (even when and especially when he was annoying her). Today was no different.

“Grantaire. You just saw him yesterday. You can’t possibly miss him that much already!”

Grantaire gave Eponine his most pathetic expression from where he was hunched on the couch, cradling him phone in his hands. On the screen, a blank new message to Enjolras was displayed. He’d been trying to formulate the perfect text message for the past hour, much to Eponine’s chagrin.

“You do realize you have a job? With clients? Who made appointments? Today?”

Grantaire sighed dramatically. _“I knooooow.”_ He lifted his phone up to his face, made a sort of whining noise, and flipped over on the couch.

“Are you trying to make sure you sulk evenly on both sides?” Eponine snorted.

Grantaire flipped her off with his free hand before flipping on his back. “Okay. So I text him today. Say hi. Say I had a great time yesterday. Then I say hey, can I come by...Wednesday?”

“Thursday.”

Grantaire made a pitiful noise again.

“You have a 3 hour shoot in the middle of the day Wednesday. Plus he’ll be busy with the matinee and evening performance.”

Grantaire sighed again, but nodded his acquiescence. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Thursday. Thursday is good.” He fought the urge to have Eponine read his message before he sent it, instead glancing over it half a dozen times and clicking “send” before he could stop himself. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, a little bubble popped up to show Enjolras was typing. Grantaire’s breath caught in his throat. Then,

Enjolras: _I had a great time yesterday too. Thursday sounds good. Text me when you’re on your way._

Grantaire breathed a sigh of relief. Then another bubble popped up.

Enjolras: _What are you up to today?_

Grantaire let out a squee. Eponine rolled her eyes. “Did he propose to you via text or something?”

“He asked me what I’m doing today!” Grantaire grinned, fingers flying over his keyboard.

Grantaire: _Just doing a couple shoots. The usual. U?_

Enjolras: _The usual. Going over fight call in a few._

Before Grantaire could respond, the studio door swung open. Eponine became all cool smiles and soothing tones; she was always the picture of politeness to their clientele. Grantaire slide off the couch and slipped his phone into his pocket. He took a breath, cleared his mind, and went over to join Eponine and their client. 

_The usual,_ he smiled to himself.

*

Of course, Eponine was right.

He was awake bright and early at eight AM, and after throwing on some clothes and eating a couple of bowls of Fruit Loops, he was already itching to head over the theater. Instead, he edited the photos from yesterday’s shoot until a young actor, who appeared to be about twelve years old, sheepishly entered the studio. He reminded Grantaire of Marius the usher.

The shoot took about an hour, giving Grantaire plenty of time to shower, eat a sandwich, and decide on what to wear afterwards. Maybe one day he wouldn’t care what he wore to see Enjolras _(or maybe he’d be borrowing Enjolras’ clothes instead),_ but today was not that day.

When he left his his bedroom, Eponine was waiting for him, leaning against the refrigerator and staring at her phone. When she saw him, she tapped the screen and turned it around to face him.

“Only forty-three minutes and thirteen seconds! A new record!”

“Hey, fifteen minutes of that was me showering!”

“Whatever you say...” Eponine smirked. “You kids have fun today.”

“Thanks, ‘Ponine.” Grantaire smiled. With that, he grabbed his wallet and set out towards the theatre district.

The route was already getting more and more familiar, which made the butterflies in his stomach flutter. It was funny how the marquees, once foreign and glaring, now seemed to beam down at Grantaire as he made his way towards the stage door, per Marius’ advice. It felt sneaky going in through the back door when he himself wasn’t an actor. But Grantaire had never had much regard for the rules anyway, and the list of things he would do to see Enjolras at this point was filled with many more unscrupulous things.

As soon as he stepped through the door, he was met with a shorter, scruffy-looking man, dressed all in black, a mic set in hand and a headset slung over his neck. His brown skin was dark under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. At the sight of Grantaire he gave a nod, green eyes glittering warmly despite his overall vaguely disgruntled appearance.

“You must be Grantaire,” he said, holding his free hand out. Grantaire returned the handshake, a bit taken aback by the strength of his grip. He was definitely someone who was stronger than he looked. “Enjolras told me to expect you. I’m Feuilly, the stage manager.”

The fact that Enjolras had given his coworkers a heads up about Grantaire’s visit was oddly reassuring. “I’m Grantaire,” he replied automatically, “Well. You already knew that but. Yeah. Thanks for letting me come back here.”

Feuilly shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Enjolras’ room is this way.” Without waiting for Grantaire to respond, he turned and started down the hallway. 

They passed a dressing room, the door propped open, where a young man with gravity-defying hair was arguing good-naturedly with a bald man who was attempting to put makeup on him. A woman with a pixie cut came down the hallway towards them, arms full of an assortment of vests, sighed, and excused herself as she pushed past them to get into the dressing room with the two men. 

“That’s Fantine, the head dresser,” Feuilly said, answering Grantaire’s unvoiced question.

As they got further down the hall, Grantaire recognized the teddy bear on one of the doors, which was still closed, though voices could be heard inside now, and he knew they were close. Sure enough, the next door was Enjolras’ dressing room. The door was open, and Grantaire caught a glimpse of him peeking out: he was talking to a huge, muscular man, with tattoos wrapping around his biceps.

At the sight of Grantaire, Enjolras’ face brightened and the powerful-looking man gave a wave goodbye and walked down the hall towards the stage, followed by Feuilly. It seemed like Grantaire had blinked and he was alone with Enjolras. He gulped.

“Come in!” Enjolras beamed. Grantaire fought to urge to avert his eyes slightly; Enjolras was so _dazzling._ “Sorry, I’m a bit of a mess. I didn’t think to dress presentably today.” He tucked a piece of hair behind his ear absently, but all Grantaire could think was that even wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, he still managed to look as if he’d just walked off a runway. 

“What?” Grantaire gaped. “Presentable? I...You...You look amazing.” In his head, he heard Eponine saying, _10 seconds talking to Enjolras before blushing! A new record!_

Enjolras tucked another errant piece of hair behind his ear, smiling. “So do you.” There was a pause and Grantaire took a quick glance around the room. 

It was smaller than he’d pictured, but not tiny. Enjolras was neat, books stacked on the dressing room table next to a tin of tea and some mugs, cardigan hung on a hook on the wall. Photos of him and who Grantaire assumed were his parents and the Red & Black cast were taped to the side of the mirror. There was a large fan shoved into one corner next to a wobbly looking office chair and a squashed grey loveseat took up the rest of the wall.

“If you want, I can give you a tour,” Enjolras finally spoke.

“Oh?”

“Well, you showed me the Met, so the least I can do is show you my theater.”

“Your theater?”

“Well, Jean’s theater, but you know what I mean,” Enjolras smirked. “Here, come with me,” and he held out his hand to Grantaire. At this point, he was certain his face redefining the color red. They joined hands and made it maybe three steps out the door before they were bombarded.

“Annnnnd here’s the one, the only, Enjolras! Oh and he has a visitor! The plot thickens!” A beaming face, brown eyes wide, black hair perfectly coiffed, smile sparkling, was right in their faces with a small camcorder.

“Courfeyrac, what are you doing?” Enjolras sighed, wearing an expression that Grantaire could tell was most certainly his “Courfeyrac-What-Are-You-Doing-Now” face.

The camcorder kept rolling as Courfeyrac responded. “Vive le Vlog! The Broadway.com video blog you decided not to do because it would ‘distract you from your work.’ Though I can now see that you had,” Courfeyrac looked over the viewfinder at Enjolras and waggled her eyebrows suggestively, “ _another_ distraction.” 

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “This is Grantaire. Grantaire, this is Courfeyrac. She’s a swing in the show and, unfortunately, one of my best friends.”

“Unfortunately! You wound me, Enjolras!”

“You’ll get over it,” Enjolras said, but not without some warmth trickling into his voice. He pulled Grantaire along into the hallway, making his way past an empty office (“The owner’s office. You’ll probably meet him later.”) and seeing a severe-looking man with impressive sideburns talking furiously with Feuilly.

“That’s our director, Javert. He’s a bit meticulous about getting things right.” Enjolras said, voice just above a whisper.

“I’d believe it. Especially with those mutton chops.”

The two came to the stage itself, the work lights shining down to show where the black wood downstage was chipped in places. Grantaire stared in awe out at the seats. When he turned back around, the bespectacled man from the stage door was making his way towards them.

“Enjolras,” he nodded in greeting. “And you must be Grantaire,” he said, putting his hand out. “I’m Combeferre. I play Alain and understudy for Enjolras.”

Grantaire returned the warm handshake. “I remember you from the stage door.”

Combeferre smiled and adjusted his spindly, wire-rim glasses. “Ah, yes, that stage door does stick out in my mind.” He glanced over at Enjolras, who was glowering at him, face pink. His hazel eyes glittered, amused. “I’ll leave the two of you to your tour.” He gave a small nod of the head and made his way to where Courfeyrac was filming.

“He seems nice,” Grantaire mused.

“I’ve known him since I first got to New York. He’s my roommate as well as my best friend,” Enjolras smiled warmly, as if remembering the past meeting.

Grantaire wondered how much Combeferre knew about Enjolras, all the stories, all the memories the two must share. He felt a tendril of jealousy creeping up his stomach, but when he looked up to see Enjolras smiling at him, he couldn’t feel too envious.

“Enjolras, have you seen Javert? I wanted to talk to him about a couple of things before we start today.” The inquiry came from a young man with auburn hair, sporting a brilliant lilac jacket with a wilted white rose on the lapel. It took him a moment to register someone else was with Enjolras. “Oh, hello, and who are you?”

Grantaire glanced at Enjolras quickly, not sure if he meant to answer the man’s first question. Enjolras gave him a small, encouraging nod.

“Um, I’m Grantaire.” He hesitated for a second. He didn’t want to say he was Enjolras’ boyfriend, but he didn’t want to just say friend, or that he was just visiting... Luckily, the man seemed not to care or notice.

“I’m Jehan. I make sure everyone sings the songs I wrote the way they should be sung.” He laughed, a light, bird-like sound. “Though I never have to worry about Enjolras.”

“Thanks, Jehan. Javert is over there.” Enjolras pointed behind them.

“Thank you,” Jehan sang, gliding over to where Javert and Feuilly were still talking.

Enjolras then continued to lead Grantaire around the stage. “So this circle we’re standing in is the rotating portion of the stage.” He pointed down, and sure enough, Grantaire could make out the outline of a large circle.

“Is it hard to walk on?” Grantaire was pretty sure he’d just get motion sickness if he had to walk on it, and tried not to grimace at the thought.

Enjolras shrugged. “It’s got a bit of a learning curve, sure. But you get used to it quick enough.”

He then showed Grantaire some of his favorite set pieces: A graffiti-covered wall of the Sorbonne, Parisian street signs, sturdy enough for Enjolras to hang off of, Enjolras’ bullhorn, a brilliant red, and the pile of red and black flags used in the production. 

“Whoa,” Grantaire said, examining one of the signs, which shone faintly under the work lights. “They look so _real._ Well, I mean, I know that’s the point, but...”

“Yeah, they’re pretty amazing. It really makes you feel like you’re there.” Enjolras’ face seemed to glow too, even in the dim lights. Just like when Grantaire saw him on stage, something about his expression made Grantaire get the feeling that Enjolras was meant to perform.

The two cut back behind the back of the stage, Grantaire watching carefully where Enjolras stepped over random wires and dodged protruding set pieces. Enjolras was just as much in his element backstage as he was onstage.

They made their way back to Enjolras’ dressing room, and found the woman with the short hair, Fantine, Grantaire remembered, waiting there on the loveseat.

“What time is...?” Enjolras glanced at the digital clock, balanced semi-precariously on the fan. “Oh!”

“Yes, ‘oh,’” Fantine said, one eyebrow raised, but a smile playing on the corner of her lips. “Call is in fifteen, so get dressed!” 

“Yes, ma’am!” Enjolras said. And with a _whoosh_ of her long, flowing skirt and a _click_ of the door, Fantine was gone.

Enjolras began to pull his shirt over his head and then glanced at Grantaire, who was beet red. Enjolras blinked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that he was stripping down in front of a man he was, at least Grantaire supposed they were, dating.

“I-I’m going to go wait outside,” Grantaire said, averting his eyes and quickly dashing out. He slumped down on the wall beside the room. He knew, logically, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t ever seen before but... The thought of Enjolras’ slender hips, sweatpants riding low, had been enough to send his head spinning. He had his head in his hands when he heard a voice ask,

“Do you need some aspirin or something?”

Grantaire looked up and saw the two men he had seen earlier bantering in a dressing room leaning over him. The one with the gravity-defying hair appeared to be the one who’d asked the question, as he was pulling pill bottle after pill bottle out of his pockets, with an effect not dissimilar to clowns getting out a clown car.

“Uh, I’m fine, thanks,” Grantaire said, and the bald man patted his friend on the shoulder.

“He’s fine, Joly. You can put your pharmacy away.”

“Oh, okay,” Joly blinked absently.

“I’m Lesgles, but everyone just calls me Bossuet,” the bald man said, giving a wave to Grantaire. “And my friend here, who I swear is not a drug dealer, is Joly.”

“Hello!” Joly said brightly, putting his fist out to Grantaire, who after a moment, bumped it with his own fist. At his slightly puzzled expression, Joly spoke. “Oh, fist bumps are much more sanitary than handshakes. They spread less germs.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Grantaire replied. “I’m Grantaire.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Bossuet. “So, why are you sitting outside the floor of Enjolras’ dressing room? Hoping he’ll make an appearance?” He glanced down at a battered iPhone, whose Otterbox appeared to be falling off in chunks. “Because I have to get in there in the next ten minutes or else he’s going to look like a ghost on stage.”

“I am the Ghost of Revolutions Past!” Joly oohed ominously, making both Grantaire and Bossuet laugh.

“Well, he was getting dressed when I left, so he should be ready soon,” Grantaire offered.

“Wow, he was undressing and you had the strength to leave. You’re a good man,” Joly nodded solemnly.

“What?” Grantaire’s face flushed again.

“Joly, you’re embarrassing him,” Bossuet sighed.

“Sorry, sorry!” Joly said quickly. “But seriously. Props to you.”

“Thanks?” Grantaire mumbled, not quite sure there was an appropriate response he could give.

Enjolras’ dressing room door swung open and Grantaire fumbled to his feet quickly.

“Don’t get up on my account!” Enjolras laughed. “I was just looking for Bossuet–”

“Ask and ye shall receive!” Bossuet bowed his head slightly, holding a basket of makeup aloft, which Joly instinctively steadied with his hands.

Enjolras, even without makeup, seemed to already be getting into character. His posture was more formal, shoulders back, the fire behind his eyes being kindled with each breath he took. His navy blue polo was tight, showing his lithe form, though he had not yet put on his bright red jacket. Though the show’s costumes weren’t much different from street clothes, something about Enjolras’ outfit made Grantaire’s breath catch in his throat.

Bossuet followed Enjolras into the dressing room and Joly tromped after him, gesturing for Grantaire to follow. 

Joly had settled onto the loveseat, so Grantaire sat on the off-kilter office chair. Enjolras was perched on a small stool, Bossuet already at work on his makeup. His hands worked deftly, accenting Enjolras’ cheekbones and jawline, making his blue eyes pop, darkening his eyebrows. It was like seeing someone Photoshop in real life: applying a sharpening filter, or really, more like upping the contrast in his features, saturating the tone of his skin, the irises of his eyes, the red of his lips. Grantaire’s hand twitched absently on an invisible shutter button.

A voice over the intercom called places for the top of the show just as Bossuet sealed Enjolras makeup, making Grantaire jump. Joly laughed.

“You get used to it,” he smiled, standing up and giving a stretch. “You ready, Enjolras?”

Enjolras nodded briskly, his transformation complete. Grantaire would have thought he was his character, about to start a protest, a riot, a revolution. But when Enjolras’ eyes met Grantaire’s they softened, and he knew that it was Enjolras looking at him.

Joly and Bossuet quietly slipped out and gave Enjolras and Grantaire a moment alone. 

“You can watch from the wings, if you’d like,” Enjolras started, voice softer than Grantaire had expected. “I’ll tell Feuilly to keep an eye on you.”

Grantaire smiled. “I’ll be fine here. I don’t want to get in the way.”

“Well, there are some books here if you’d like them. And help yourself to some tea.” Enjolras gestured to the stack of books and tin of tea Grantaire had spotted earlier.

“Thanks.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Coming!” Enjolras called, hand on the doorknob. He paused and looked back at Grantaire.

“Break a leg.”

“Thanks, Grantaire.” And with that, he was out the dressing room door. A few minutes later, Grantaire could hear the opening bars of the overture. Now _this_ was surreal. 

Shaking his head and resisting the urge to pinch himself, he instead grabbed the smallest book off Enjolras’ stack (some weird-looking play by the looks of it, its cover reading Cloud Nine and decorated with a strange collage), sat on the loveseat, and tried to read.

The play was interesting, but exceedingly weird and hard to follow, especially as he kept jumping as people walked past the door and kept getting distracted by what he could hear of the show.

When the dressing room door swung open, Grantaire leapt thinking it would be Enjolras (though given what he had heard of the show so far and what the clock read, it was nowhere near intermission), but a young woman walked in instead. She appeared to be dressed and ready for the show, save for the bits of long chestnut hair falling out of her bun. 

“Oh, sorry!” She gasped. “I didn’t realized anyone would be in here. Still, suppose I should have knocked.”

“It’s no problem!” Grantaire stuttered, waving the book in his hands as he gestured awkwardly. Her face seemed familiar somehow, and Grantaire tried to remember who she had played in the show as she looked around Enjolras’ dressing room table.

“I’m just looking for some bobby pins. Somehow they all seem to gravitate towards Enjolras,” she sighed. She rummaged around in some of the drawers until she triumphantly recovered a handful of light brown pins. “He doesn’t even have brown hair. It’s a conspiracy.”

Grantaire wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he just nodded.

“Oh, I’m Cosette by the way,” the woman said, or at least, that’s what Grantaire thought she said, as her she had three bobby pins in her mouth as she was pinning the errant hairs into place.

“Grantaire. I’m uh, visiting Enjolras.”

“Oh, Grantaire!” Cosette’s brown eyes lit up in recognition as she took a good look at Grantaire through the mirror. “You did my headshots the other day!”

Grantaire _thought_ she had looked familiar. “Oh, yeah! Eponine’s friend!”

“That’s me,” Cosette said in a sing-song voice. “It was lovely catching up with her. And your photos turned out great. I’ve been recommending you to all of my friends,” she beamed.

“Oh, wow, thanks. I’m just glad you liked them,” Grantaire said sheepishly. He was never quite sure what to do with compliments. 

“Of course!” Cosette paused and seemed to strain to hear what was happening onstage. “Crap, I have to go. I’m on soon. Later!”

“Later,” Grantaire said quickly as Cosette zoomed out the door, skirt flying wildly.

 _Theatre people really do seem to have a flair for dramatic exits,_ he thought absently. 

The next 35, 40, 45 minutes ticked by, slowly, slowly, slowly. Grantaire gave up on reading and instead tried to distract himself by playing games on his phone. They were mindless, but they at least made time pass by at a normal speed.

Finally, he heard the last few dramatic bars of act one and the orchestra grew silent. A few moments later, the hall outside the door was filled with footsteps and chatter. Grantaire sat up in his seat, mind racing to figure out the least awkward position he could be in when Enjolras returned. He didn’t have to think about his pose very long, as the door swung open, and in came Enjolras, Combeferre close behind him.

Enjolras’ onstage glow was not limited to the spotlight; performance made him shine all the brighter, and not just due to the sheen of sweat on his brow.

“Hey,” he said to Grantaire in greeting, before taking a long swig of water from a bottle that had been standing next to the stack of books. Grantaire tried, and failed, not to look too long at Enjolras’ long, pale neck as he drank. Grantaire gulped unconsciously. 

“Hello again, Grantaire,” Combeferre smiled. Something in his eyes made Grantaire acutely aware that his own stare had been noticed by him, if not Enjolras. To Combeferre’s credit, he didn’t say a word about it, merely grabbed a couple of mugs and two tea bags and vanished.

“I hope you weren’t too bored,” Enjolras spoke again. His water bottle was already empty; Grantaire wondered how many he went through every show.

“Oh, I was fine,” Grantaire replied hastily.

“You sure?” Enjolras’ brow furrowed, causing some of his makeup to clump. 

“Yeah! Of course!” At Enjolras’ expression, Grantaire realized he wasn’t being super convincing. “I mean, I missed you. But I just played some games on my phone. Read a bit of one of your books.”

Enjolras’ face brightened. God, why was he so cute? “Oh, yeah? Which one?”

“Uhh,” Grantaire wasn’t sure he was ready for a conversation about Cloud Nine just yet, but luckily, Combeferre came to the rescue, two steaming mugs of steeping tea in hand.

“Here you go,” Combeferre said, eyes twinkling. It seemed like he _knew_ he was saving Grantaire’s ass. It was impressive, but a bit freaky. “I put extra lemon and honey in yours, Enjolras. So make sure to drink it and not spend the next ten minutes just talking to Grantaire.”

Enjolras frowned at him, but took his mug and sipped from it pointedly. “Yes, mom.”

Combeferre gave a laugh and settled with a considerable amount of poise onto the wobbly office chair. Enjolras sat on the edge of the dressing room counter, took another sip of tea, and asked, “So, did anything interesting happen while we were onstage?”

Grantaire began recounting Cosette’s visit and what he (rather cleverly, if he did say so himself) called the Curious Incident of the Bobby Pins in the Dressing Room, when Combeferre interrupted.

“Oh, that isn’t Enjolras.” He said over his mug of tea. “That’s the ghost.”

“Hm?” Grantaire blinked. Had he heard Combeferre correctly?

“Oh yeah, we have a ghost haunting the theatre,” Enjolras said briskly. “According to Combeferre, that is.”

“You believe in ghosts?” Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. 

Combeferre shrugged lightly. “I don’t see why they can’t exist.”

“So what’s the deal with this one, then?”

“He’s the spirit of a young leading actor who died backstage. He had a heart condition and died during rehearsal one day.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said. “That’s awful.”

“It was a terrible tragedy, and his soul wasn’t yet ready to leave the theatre life behind. So sometimes you can see him walking the wings, or the balcony, watching over us.”

“So how does that explain the bobby pins?”

“This was his dressing room,” Enjolras spoke up. A shiver went down Grantaire’s spine.  
Nonchalantly, Enjolras took a last gulp of his tea and set down the empty mug. “Apparently, he brings the actor in this room whatever he thinks they’ll need. In my case, bobby pins.” 

Combeferre nodded sagely. “One of the past occupants of this room was always looking for his mic pack, so when anyone’s mic went missing, they knew where to check.”

Grantaire gulped again. He kept waiting for one of them to laugh, but they seemed dead serious. 

Sensing his nervousness, Combeferre smiled. “If you’re a friend of the theatre, you’re a friend of his. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, he would like you,” Enjolras added.

“Yeah and why is that?” Grantaire asked, a bit more skeptically than he intended.

“Because I like you,” Enjolras replied simply.

Before Grantaire could respond, there was a rhythmic knocking on the door. It swung open and Bossuet slide in, makeup kit in hand. “Touch ups, quick, quick!” A bit of powder here and there, a change of jackets for Enjolras, and the two were stage-bound once more.

“I’ll see you after the show!” Grantaire called. Enjolras turned around and gave a broad smile.

“I’ll see you after the show.” 

The dressing room door closed and Grantaire sank onto the couch. It felt like his face was going to break from smiling. He had just run out of lives in his game on his iPhone when there was a knock on the door. As he stood up to go see who it was, the door slowly creaked open. A pair of bright brown eyes peeked through the crack in the door.

 _“Psst,”_ Courfeyrac hissed. “Come here.”

Grantaire obeyed cautiously. “What is it?” He whispered back.

“I came to rescue you from your boredom,” she said with a sly grin. “Come on!” And she let the door close. Grantaire hesitated a moment, but if she was Enjolras’ friend, she couldn’t get him in too much trouble, right?

He opened the dressing room door to see Courfeyrac leaning not-so-subtly against the wall in front of him. As he closed the door behind him, she popped up, hair bouncing as she did so.

“This way!” Courfeyrac took off in the direction of the stage, feet moving swiftly but quietly. Grantaire tried his best not to make too much noise. 

The sounds of the stage and the orchestra grew steadily louder. The two passed Feuilly, who was giving fervent whispered instructions into his headset. He saw them and gave a sigh, but merely motioned for them to be quiet and whisked off behind another set of curtains.

They walked a bit farther, and then they were in the wings. Grantaire took a sharp intake of breath. Seeing a production from the audience was the way it was meant to be seen, but seeing the show in profile was awe-inspiring. Around him, cast and crew were scurrying around. Combeferre was getting makeup put on him a few feet away. Onstage, he could see Enjolras, front and center, singing a speech to his fellow students, to not give up, to keep fighting. On the other side of the stage, Grantaire could barely make out some of the gendarmes ready to take the stage, helmets shining slightly. Courfeyrac gave him a nudge and winked, gesturing towards the stage. Grantaire flushed.

 _“Thank you,”_ he mouthed.

Courfeyrac smiled broadly in reply. Combeferre crossed over towards them, gesturing in such a way to let Grantaire know they were going onstage. 

And then, they weren’t Courfeyrac and Combeferre anymore, at least not the people he’d been introduced to earlier. Their shoulders back and eyes ablaze, they took to the stage, announcing to Enjolras that the gendarmes would not back down and that they were on their way.

 _Theatre people._ Grantaire shook his head. They were pretty damn amazing. 

He was careful to watch and keep out of the way of Feuilly and his crew and the intricately moving set pieces, but for the most part, Grantaire kept his eyes on Enjolras. A couple of times, when he turned around, he thought their eyes met, but Enjolras kept in character seamlessly, so he couldn’t have given Grantaire that smile, could he?

When Enjolras’ character was almost shot and the loud _bang_ of the gun rang out, Grantaire jumped. And even though he knew it was just a show, his heart still raced. At Enjolras’ last soliloquy he may have teared up. Just a little. By the finale, he was clapping with the rest of the audience. As the cast began to rush offstage for the curtain call, Grantaire was suddenly aware he might not want to be where he was at that moment. Luckily, Feuilly had figured Grantaire would have no idea what to do, and quickly grabbed him by the arm and guided him to the edge of the wings and out of the way. 

Grantaire clapped and cheered with the rest of the crowd, and when the curtain closed and the stage lights finally went dark, the house lights went on and there was a great whoosh as the cast soared past him. He got up on his tiptoes, squinting in the crowd to try and find a familiar head of golden hair. The mob began to thin out and he made out Joly’s mop of hair.

“Enjolras is usually one of the last ones in,” he reassured Grantaire before entering the corridor himself, unbuttoning his vest as he walked.

Sure enough, Enjolras was the last person to make his way towards Grantaire. He seemed to be almost _bouncing,_ he was so pumped with adrenaline, shining with sweat, and to Grantaire, he had never looked more beautiful (which was saying something).

“You’re _here,”_ Enjolras breathed as he strode over next to Grantaire. They were just inside the archway of the door, causing Grantaire to distinctly note that Enjolras was in fact three, maybe four, inches taller than him.

“Yeah, Courfeyrac snuck me over. I watched the second act from the wings.”

“I saw.” Enjolras’ gaze was naturally piercing, but at this distance Grantaire felt he might very well melt. And was it just him or was Enjolras getting closer?

“Oh, so you did see me,” Grantaire gulped.

“I did,” Enjolras whispered, his breath warm against Grantaire’s face. Okay, no he was definitely getting closer. “And when I saw you, all I could think was how much I wanted to kiss you.”

“How much you wanted to–?” Grantaire knew the allergies were bad this season and his ears were more clogged up than ever, but had Enjolras just said...?

“Kiss you,” Enjolras finished.

“Oh.”

“So?”

“Well,” Grantaire stammered, “I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment I saw you.”

And in a flash, the gap, albeit minuscule, between them was closed and Enjolras was _kissing Grantaire._ He knew he wasn’t dreaming, if only because none of his dreams about kissing Enjolras had ever been this good, this vivid. Enjolras’ lips were chapped and hot against Grantaire’s. Enjolras had Grantaire pinned against the wall, the zipper of his coat digging into Grantaire’s chest as one hand cupped his face, scraping against his stubble. Electricity seemed to flow from where Enjolras’ fingertips touched Grantaire’s cheek. Grantaire twined his own fingers into Enjolras’ hair, drawing him deeper into the kiss. At this, Enjolras gave a pleased hum, his hands trailing up into Grantaire’s own curls as he kissed him back with increased fervor. Eventually, the need to breath kicked in and the two broke apart, panting heavily. 

“I,” Enjolras paused, taking deep breaths. Grantaire could feel Enjolras’ heart hammering as fast as his own with his hands resting on his chest. “I need. To change. Stage. Door.”

It took Grantaire’s brain a moment to cool down and string Enjolras’ words into a comprehensible statement.

“Oh. Oh. Shit, yeah that’s a thing.”

Enjolras laughed and Grantaire could feel the sound reverberate underneath his fingertips. “Yeah, it is.” He placed a more gentle kiss to Grantaire’s forehead. “I know I’ve asked you to do a lot of waiting today, but would you be willing to wait a bit longer?”

“I’d wait for you forever,” Grantaire blurted. Well, at least his face was still flushed from the kissing. Kissing _Enjolras._

“I won’t keep you waiting that long,” Enjolras smiled. They walked to Enjolras’ dressing room and in a flash Enjolras was in and out, another kiss pressed to Grantaire’s cheek before he left. “I’ll be back soon.”

Grantaire gave a small wave, which Enjolras returned. 

Watching Enjolras bound down the hallway, his head was still spinning. Just a few weeks ago, _he’d_ been at that stage door, meeting an actor, a Broadway star, _Enjolras._ Who he had just now made out with. He let himself fall back against the corridor wall and slide down to the floor. If Combeferre gave Grantaire a knowing look as he came out of his dressing room, Grantaire didn’t even notice.

*

In fact, Enjolras was gone at the stage door so long that Grantaire’s phone died. But for Grantaire, exiting the theater hand-in-hand with Enjolras was more than worth the wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd scene! You guys FINALLY got to meet the cast and crew of Red & Black and I am so stoked about it. Also kissing. But also friends! Most of these backstage experiences are imagined loosely off of the antics the 13-14 cast of Les Mis London got to back in the day, and I apologize if I got any crew member's job/responsibilities completely Off. It's all for fun! Much of the backstage antics are based on my experiences with high school theatre, so it's a bit different from Broadway, but theatre people are the same at every level to some degree. :) Thespians for life! The ghost story, specifically, is based off the ghost who haunts my high school's theater.
> 
> In terms of characters, I could say a lot about all of them, but in terms of random factoids no one would ask, I recently was struck with the facecast of Krysta Rodriguez for Courfeyrac, and from the planning stages of this fic, I knew that Feuilly was going to be Roma(ni). The latter is especially important to me.
> 
> Another side note, the Photoshop description Grantaire gives is probably one of my favorite parts of this fic so far. I just really love camera things. <3
> 
> Once again, your comments are all lovely (I still need to reply to a few now that I think about it!!) and feel free to talk to me on Tumblr [vivelarepublique](http://vivelarepublique.tumblr.com), especially now a bunch of new characters have been introduced. :) You'll be seeing more of them (And especially Combeferre because I love him – it's been hard waiting this long to properly introduce him!!)~


	5. Chapter 5

“We’ve got magic to do  
Just for you  
We’ve got parts to perform  
Hearts to warm  
Kings and things to take by a storm  
As we go along our way”  
-“Magic to Do,” _Pippin_  


The coming weeks seemed to pass in a blur. One moment Grantaire was with Eponine, editing photos and complaining about late clients, and the next he was meeting Enjolras around the corner after a stage door, or waiting for Enjolras in his dressing room, or getting coffee with Enjolras before shows.

Correction: the coming weeks passed in a blur in which the recurring blur was Enjolras.

That past Monday, Enjolras had taken Grantaire to go see Cause/Effect, a show at the theater next door to Red & Black. Apparently, Enjolras was friends with the lead, and after hearing her sing, Grantaire was astounded.

"Are you friends with only super-talented people?" Grantaire asked. “Cause/Effect aside, Courfeyrac can play like a million roles, and Combeferre’s talent could, like, fill stadiums.” The two were sitting in Bryant Park after having visited Cause/Effect’s lead actress, Simplice, after the show. Being backstage had become a weirdly familiar experience for Grantaire. He even took a photo of the two actors for Simplice to put up on her Instagram. "Um," he backtracked, "Not that I'm super-talented or anything. Because I'm not."

Enjolras raised his eyebrows at Grantaire pointedly before responding, "One, what does 'super-talented' even mean? Everyone has their talents, so in that respect, all my friends are super talented. Especially Combeferre, you got me there. And two, you are most certainly super-talented."

Grantaire scoffed, rolling his eyes. "How would you know? I just do head shots and crap."

"I went to your website."

"You what?"

"I went to your website," Enjolras repeated with a shrug. 

Grantaire blinked. “How did you know I had a website?”

“Well, most photographers do,” Enjolras said, one eyebrow raised. “I looked you up after you said you were a photographer, to see your work.”

“And?”

“It was pretty amazing.”

Now Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

“No, seriously! I really like your portraits. You bring out a certain...something in people.” He paused a moment, seeming to flip through the images in his mind. “Your self portrait with the broken bottle was especially powerful.”

Grantaire ran his fingers through his curls, a nervous habit. “That was just some crap I did in college, nothing special.” 

In fact, he had shot the piece in a fit of desperation his junior year, having hit rock bottom, on the verge of dropping out, his drinking out of control. The broken beer bottle had made a parody of a funhouse mirror out of his face, looking as fractured as he felt. The way the glass reflected his face caught his eye, so he grabbed his camera and shot and shot and kept shooting. His photos and Eponine were the only things that got him through college, really. He hadn’t realized he still had it up on his website.

The look Enjolras was giving him made him nervous, as he seemed to see right through his attempt at nonchalance. But he didn’t call Grantaire out on it, merely shrugged, and said, “Well, you must only have gotten better from then.”

“I mean, I guess.”

“I’d like to see it. Some of your recent work. Do you have any in a gallery or something?”

Grantaire flushed. “Uh, no, I wish! Eponine keeps bugging me to try to get some of my work in one, but I’m not that good, Jesus... It’s nice of you to think so, but yeah. I just mess around with crap when I’m not working.”

“Well, what does the stuff you mess around with look like?”

Grantaire hesitated, then decided to take a leap. “Well, uh, I could show you some stuff back at the studio, if you want? I don’t want to waste your time on your day off...”

“Time spent with you is never a waste of time,” Enjolras smiled.

Grantaire flushed. "Well, if you want... Here um, we can go a few blocks and take the subway to my place..."

The subway ride with Enjolras brought back memories of their first date, which did nothing for Grantaire's nerves. Enjolras seemed unaffected as always, looking ready for a photoshoot. Grantaire almost missed their stop, but luckily he had taken the route so many times, he automatically gravitated to the subway door once they got there.

“This our stop?” Enjolras asked, standing up as he saw Grantaire move. 

“Yup, this is us.”

The walk from the subway to the studio was thankfully a short one, as Grantaire was terrible at small talk. It was times like this he wished for Gavroche, who when they were walking places, would babble about all the people he’d seen each place, making up stories about what they did each day. Enjolras seemed content with the silence, and soon enough, they were at Grantaire’s building, where he held the door open for Enjolras.

It was then that he realized he had no idea if Eponine was home.

“Hold on, lemme text my roommate real quick,” he said as he punched the “up” button on the elevator.

“You live in your studio?”

“Well, off of it. Um, you’ll see.”

 **Grantaire:** I’ll be up in a few with Enjolras, FYI

Eponine’s reply came quicker than he expected, though the elevator was slow.

 **Eponine:** Oh do you need some space? Some condoms? ;D

Grantaire’s face flushed and he shoved his phone in his pocket hastily.

“Everything alright?” Enjolras asked. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Yup! Everything’s fine!” Grantaire replied, his voice only cracking slightly. The elevator dinged and Grantaire gestured Enjolras in, hitting the button for the ninth floor. “So, um, my roommate’s name is Eponine by the way. And if she says anything weird about me, she’s lying.”

This made the edges of Enjolras’ mouth quirk in a small smile. “Noted.”

Grantaire fumbled with his keys and finally got the door to swing open. He let Enjolras enter first.

“Hello, Enjolras!” Eponine piped from where she was sitting at her desk, feet up, painting her nails a deep purple. “I would shake your hand, but,” she waved her half painted nails at him.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Enjolras said with a small wave back.

“Okay, now that’s out of the way, has Grantaire ever told you about the time when he got knocked out by a softball?”

“Annnnnd, we’re going to go back into the studio now,” Grantaire said abruptly, dashing past Eponine. Enjolras, trailing behind him.

They padded down a couple of stairs and they were met by backdrops and lights, creating a labyrinth of equipment. Grantaire was glad Eponine at least made him tidy up the studio after every shoot. Otherwise, the maze of equipment would be much more difficult to navigate.

“The prints are back here,” Grantaire said, gesturing towards a dusty closet, which housed his now rarely-used dark room. He ducked in the dark room and came out with a cardboard box stuffed full of rolls of film, strips of negatives, and some newer prints. 

“Why do you keep them all shoved away back here?” Enjolras asked, as Grantaire flipped through the folders of photos. 

He shrugged. “The newer ones I just have copies of on my external hard drive. The older ones I don’t look at enough to warrant their own frames or anything.”

He had laid out some of the prints haphazardly on a rickety old table, one of whose legs was propped up by a lens cap. Enjolras grabbed one of them, a black-and-white print of a much younger Grantaire, half of his face distorted by a beer bottle, camera warped around the outside of the glass.

“Why’d this one not make it to the site?”

Grantaire shrugged again. It was his go-to response. Seeing Enjolras was not satisfied, he racked his brains for a more verbal reply.

“Well, I was just messing around? I mean none of this is really that good. I just needed crap to put up for my portfolio class, and Eponine makes me add new stuff to the site every month or so anyway.”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed. “These really are really pretty amazing. You should put more up. People would love to see them.”

Grantaire couldn’t help but scoff. “Yeah, right. Nobody ever looks at my site except for the headshot section anyway. Otherwise, it’s just generic Hipster Number Three’s photos. Nobody actually cares that much.”

“How do you know that?”

“They just don’t, Enjolras.” Enjolras seemed to almost bristle when Grantaire said his name, like he’d struck a nerve. He kept talking anyway. “Anyone can take decent pictures with their iPhones these days. All most people care about is getting likes on Instagram. So I post stuff on Instagram. But I’m not going to be the next Chase Jarvis or Annie Leibovitz.”

“But do you really know that? I think you could open people’s eyes. Make them think about how other people see the world.”

“The way I see it, people only see what they want to see,” Grantaire shrugged.

“But you can show them something worth seeing,” Enjolras voice began to rise, sounding more and more like his stage voice.

“If they even see my images, on the off chance I get featured in some viral Buzzfeed article or something,” Grantaire scoffed. “And then what? They share it with their other friends if I’m lucky, and I get a boost in traffic on my site for a few days, and then it’s business as usual.”

“I won’t pretend to know how the photography world works, but it doesn’t _have_ to be like that! You can really reach people with your work!” Enjolras protested.

“Yeah, unlike theatre, because now _that’s_ something that’s super accessible!”

Enjolras stiffened, but Grantaire kept talking. 

“Sure, you’re showing people how they can change the world if they can pay hundreds of dollars to come see you perform?”

“Tickets are not _hundreds_ of dollars!”

“Well they’re not exactly cheap. Broadway isn’t _really_ accessible.”

“I grew up in Iowa so you really don’t have to tell me about how inaccessible theatre is.” 

“Yeah, but I don’t see you dropping everything to go on tour to change that!” Grantaire regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, and thought he saw something like hurt crossing Enjolras’ face for something like 1/3200 of a second, but then it was gone, and he wondered if it was ever there at all, as Enjolras eyes flashed, full of fiery anger.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras gritted out, his voice not sounding at all apologetic. “I just remembered I have to meet someone. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, sure,” Grantaire replied tersely. He felt the pit of regret in his stomach before Enjolras was even out the door, but bit back any pleas to stay, any pathetic apologies. He’d talked himself into another corner, talked himself out of another potential relationship, just like always.

He sank down on the couch, prints abandoned. Eponine looked down at him from her desk, blinking, nail polish brush midway to a nail.

“Dude, what the hell?”

“I don’t know!” Grantaire said into the couch cushions. He sat up, not meeting Eponine’s disapproving gaze. “I just kept saying words and then,” he waved his hands wildly.

“Shit hit the fan?” Eponine supplied.

“Something like that,” Grantaire sighed, flopping back down sorrowfully onto the couch. “I don’t even know why I said any of it. I just... He was finally here, and...” He groaned. “When will I ever learn to keep my mouth shut?”

“When you die,” Eponine said flatly.

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“It’s a gift. And a curse.” Eponine sighed now. “I really shouldn’t offer it to you after that fiasco, but I have some leftover chocolate gelato if you’d like some.”

“I could really go for some gelato right now,” Grantaire admitted.

Eponine gave a small smile. “Well, you’re in luck.” She waved her hands around wildly, willing them to dry more quickly, and went into the kitchen and returned with a container of chocolate gelato and two spoons.

It was well into the evening and well into several more containers of gelato when Grantaire’s phone went off. He instinctively reached across the coffee table for it, but Eponine’s reaction time was faster, and she snatched it before he could. She glanced down at the screen, frowned, and put it in her pocket.

“Hey, that’s my phone!”

“Well, you don’t need it right now.”

“I don’t think it’s your job to decide that.”

“Well, as your friend, I have a right to help maintain your happiness.”

“You gave me gelato. I’m happy. Now give me back my phone.”

“The phone jeopardizes your happiness.”

“I think I can handle it,” Grantaire said, hand slashing towards Eponine’s pocket. She bent out of reach with ease.

“Like you handled your conversation with Enjolras earlier?”

Grantaire scowled at her. She did have a point. “I will handle myself better, I swear.”

“You swear?”

“By the old gods and the new.”

Eponine’s face softened only slightly at the Game of Thrones reference, but she tugged the phone out of her jeans and tossed it to Grantaire. 

When he looked down at the screen, there was the beginning of a message from Enjolras. It was so long, the preview cut it off. He unlocked his phone and began to read, heart racing.

 **Enjolras:** Hey, Grantaire. I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have walked out like that. It was childish. You just hit close to home with some of the things you said, but that doesn’t excuse how I reacted. I just really like you and I don’t want to have screwed it all up. If you don’t want to talk to me I understand, but if you do, I’ll be here to listen.

Eponine gave a cough, jolting Grantaire back to reality, blinking. 

“He still likes me?” Grantaire finally spoke.

“It appears so.”

“Like, he didn’t have to apologize, I’m the one who should’ve texted him...”

“No,” Eponine said firmly. “He just walked out of here on you. You said some kinda unnecessary stupid shit, yeah, but you always do that.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“No, but seriously, you don’t deserve anything but the best, man.” Eponine crossed her arms, looking directly at him. She looked away and continued speaking, “But I guess if he apologized he can’t be too bad.” Grantaire opened his mouth to say something, but Eponine met his gaze again, pointing seriously at him. “But you just say the word and I’ll go beat him up.”

Grantaire laughed. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Eponine.” His gaze softened. “But thank you.”

Eponine gave a shrug and merely gathered up the empty gelato cups and left Grantaire to type his response out to Enjolras.

 **Grantaire:** Enjolras, thanks for apologizing. I said some pretty stupid things too, so I’d say we’re even

He paused, thinking for a moment, then sent another, short text.

 **Grantaire:** Did u still want to meet up tomorrow morning for coffee?

Enjolras’ response was almost instantaneous.

 **Enjolras:** I would love to. The usual Starbucks?

 **Grantaire:** I have a shoot at 9, but it’s just around the corner from there

 **Enjolras:** I can be there by 8:15.

 **Grantaire:** I’ll see u there

Grantaire looked up to see Eponine lowering her eyelids at him. “What?”

“You’re seeing him again, aren’t you?”

“We’re getting Starbucks tomorrow.”

She sighed. “Well, I hope that conversation ends better. But regardless, I deserve a scone. You ate all my gelato.”

“You ate at least half, ‘Ponine...”

“That is irrelevant.”

Grantaire smiled, glancing down at his phone one more time before clicking the screen off and slipping it into his pocket. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As Grantaire walked to the subway station the next morning, he felt a vague sense of unease as he remembered all that he had said to Enjolras. But if Enjolras wanted to see him, that had to mean something? Hopefully that something wasn’t just to break up in person. Especially not before nine AM.

Enjolras was waiting at their usual window seat, already nursing a cup of tea (“The Medicine Ball” to be specific. It was some secret thing that Enjolras swore made him able to get through double show days.).

Grantaire ordered an iced coffee and joined Enjolras quietly. He could smell the mint from Enjolras’ mug as he sat down. “Double show day?”

Enjolras took another sip of his tea and gave a small smile. “Double the fun.”

Another slow, silent moment passed by. Grantaire gulped and took a sip from his coffee. He could feel the caffeine gave him a welcome jolt of energy. 

“So, uh, about yesterday...” he began, awkwardly.

Enjolras’ face fell. “Yeah, I’m sorry again. I feel horrible.”

“No, no, no, I just... I should be the one who apologized. I should never have said that stuff.” Grantaire wracked his hand through his curls in agitation. “I really don’t know why I say things sometimes, I just do and I know I shouldn’t and–”

Enjolras put his mug down. “No, Grantaire, you were right, in fact, I think I just got so upset because I have to–” 

Before Enjolras could continue, his phone rang, blasting some French song, in which Grantaire could make out something like “Ça ira,” if Grantaire was hearing it correctly. 

Enjolras blinked, caught completely off-guard. “Sorry, I have no idea who would be calling me this early.” He picked up his phone and looked at it curiously. “Courfeyrac?” He clicked to answer the call, and the voice(s) on the other line were so loud, Grantaire couldn’t help but hear them.

“ENJOLRAS YOU WERE NOMINATED FOR A TONY!!!” 

“What??” Grantaire and Enjolras said in unison, Enjolras standing up with a start. Grantaire carefully steadied his mug so he didn’t splash hot tea all over himself staring up at Enjolras, aghast.

“YOU. WERE. NOMINATED. FOR. BEST. ACTOR!!!” The voice was most certainly Courfeyrac, but Grantaire thought he heard Cosette’s voice screaming along with her.

“I– I _what??”_

 

The voices on the other end of the phone grew indistinct, as Courfeyrac was probably only slightly less loudly explaining the details to Enjolras.

His eyes were wide and as blue as ever, mouth parted, hand in his hair as he listened. “Wow. Wow. Yeah. Yeah I knew the nominations were today, I just...forgot. Yes, I know I’m oblivious. Okay, but I have to go, I’m with Grantaire right now. Yeah.” There was a pause and Enjolras flushed a bit more. _“Yes,_ Courf. Mhm. And thank you. For telling me. Yup, I’ll see you later.”

Enjolras put his phone down on the table and stared at Grantaire, eyes still wide. “So, uh, I was nominated for a Tony this morning?”

“I think you along with the whole rest of the Starbucks knows that.” Grantaire laughed, beaming up at him. Sure enough, the baristas and the couple of customers were giving Enjolras and Grantaire some strange looks. 

Before he could say anything else, Enjolras had taken Grantaire’s face in his hands and had pulled him up into a kiss. Iced coffee and tea were left to their own devices as Grantaire kissed Enjolras back. Grantaire could feel Enjolras’ heartbeat race under the palm of his hand, as his own heart beat in double time. The kiss was passionate but quick, and when they broke apart Enjolras’ hair was a mess and his face bright red.

“Well, if they didn’t know then, they _definitely_ know now.” Sure enough, the baristas had started applauding them.

“Oh. Yeah.” Enjolras flushed, running a hand through his hair and looking completely adorable, if Grantaire had to say himself. Apologies and awkwardness seemed worlds away.

Enjolras’ phone buzzed again. 

“You should probably get that,” Grantaire said, clearing his throat.

“Hm?” Enjolras did not seem to realize he had been staring so intently at Grantaire. “Oh. Yeah. Things.”

He unlocked his phone swiftly, and Grantaire watched his gaze fly over the screen. He seemed like he would be a fast reader. Sure enough, the phone was clicked off almost as soon as he’d unlocked it.

“Just Valjean. He always uses emails to communicate. Hasn’t quite gotten the hang of text messages yet. He just wants to see me whenever I can drop by today.”

“Yeah, I’m going that way anyway if you want to–” Grantaire paled and quickly pulled out his phone. “Oh, shit. I mean crap. I mean, I’m going to be late. Sorry, I totally lost track of time.”

“That’s fine,” Enjolras laughed. “I’ll walk out with you.”

Grantaire did a quick check to make sure his camera was ready to go, tossed the remainder of his iced coffee, and they were off.

The walk was short, Grantaire _had_ planned it that way, but when he was with Enjolras, parting ways was much more difficult than his mind made it out to be.

“This is my stop,” Grantaire said. He had already let them walk a block farther than he should have been, but he was already going to be a few minutes late anyway.

Enjolras smiled and leaned over to press a chaste kiss to Grantaire’s lips, lingering a few seconds. When Grantaire opened his eyes, Enjolras was still there, still smiling. “I’m glad you were there with me this morning. When I found out about about the nomination.”

Now Grantaire was grinning too. “Me too.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, soon.”

Grantaire was gazing after Enjolras’ retreating form for a bit longer than he should have been when his phone buzzed.

 **Eponine:** You make it to the client’s place okay?

“Shit,” he cursed, shoving his phone back in his pocket and half-sprinting towards his destination. “How does she know _everything?”_

(Eponine didn’t, however, know about the Tony Nominations. Grantaire got to share that story with her. Just not including _all_ the details.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's aliiiiiiive! Hello lovely reader, and if you've been following this fic, sorry to drop off the face of the (fic) planet for the last few months! In my defense, I was writing about Les Mis, just in the form of a (what ended up being) 119 page thesis. Whew! Needless to say, I had my hands full with both writing and editing this past semester. I'm hoping to get the next few written chapters up in the next week or so and start back at writing this more regularly!
> 
> In terms of notes for this chapter, I believe everything is relatively self-explanatory. I know R says at one point he sees a look on E's face for about "1/3200th of a second," which is a rather fast shutter speed on a camera. The more you know! Also writing arguments is super hard for me. I hope this one was alright... It was one of the moments that tripped me up in editing this bit!
> 
> One thing that shows this fic's age is the reference to Cause/Effect, the show next door to Red & Black. At the time of writing this fic, If/Then was at the Richard Rogers next to the Imperial, where Les Mis is. Now, as many of you probably know, a little show called Hamilton is there for the foreseeable future... As such, this fic was conceived and planned entirely pre-Hamilton, which is weird. Due to the show's obvious cultural impact, I may edit some things going forward to paint a more contemporary picture of the Broadway scene, but for now, enjoy the throwback. :)
> 
> And as always, feel free to make any comments or pose any questions below, or find me to chat on tumblr at [vivelarepublique](http://vivelarepublique.tumblr.com)! <3 I am on pretty regularly, especially now I have graduated and work isn't too busy! ^^


	6. Chapter 6

“Everything's alright,   
Yes, everything's fine.  
And we want you to sleep well tonight.  
Let the world turn without you tonight.  
If we try,   
We'll get by,   
So forget all about us tonight”  
-”Everything’s Alright,” _Jesus Christ Superstar_  


One Saturday morning in the middle of May found Grantaire in Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s dressing room, playing poker with Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Joly before the first show of the day.

Originally, Bossuet had been playing with them, but after the fourth time that his cards flew out of his hands, Joly took over while Bossuet whispered to him what to do. Combeferre had a fantastic poker face, Courfeyrac and Joly/Bossuet, not so much. Combeferre was surprisingly mediocre at poker, but his stoic expression could almost fool Grantaire. Almost. The only person who had ever beaten him at poker was Eponine. Well, and Gavroche, but that had been a fluke.

After losing yet another hand, Combeferre gave a sigh. “Bossuet, you can fill in for me. I’m going to go make sure Enjolras is drinking his tea.”

“Does he need help or something?” Grantaire asked, an eyebrow up and interest piqued at the mention of Enjolras’ name. 

“Well, he’s sick, but insisting on going on today anyway, so the least I can do is make sure he’s taking care of himself.”

Grantaire’s expression sank. “He’s sick? Why didn’t he say anything?”

“The only reason Enjolras would say something if he were sick would be if he were dead,” Combeferre ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “The only reason I can tell is because we’ve lived together so long, so don’t beat yourself up about it.” Passing up an opportunity for feeling guilty was a lost cause, but Grantaire appreciated Combeferre’s sentiment.

Poker forgotten, Grantaire followed Combeferre, leaving Courfeyrac, Bossuet, and Joly to play 52 Card Pickup with the now scattered cards. 

“Are you sure Enjolras is okay?” Grantaire said in a whisper once they were in the hallway.

“He’s just got a cold and a sore throat. I made him take some supplements to boost his immune system, but the trick will be keeping him from going out for stage door this afternoon.”

“But it’s raining!”

“But it’s Enjolras.”

The two sighed in unison in front of Enjolras door. The only sound that could be heard from within was Enjolras blowing his nose. 

Combeferre gave a quick three knocks to the door, to which Enjolras responded stuffily, “Come in.”

Enjolras was sitting pitifully on the worn couch, sniffling over a steaming mug of tea, hair pulled up into a bun, cocooned in a blanket.

“Enjolras, I _can_ go on for you today, I can just go tell Javert and–”

“No, I can do it,” Enjolras said forcefully, face scrunched up, attempting to look determined but instead looking mildly pathetic.

“I’m with Combeferre,” Grantaire said, brow furrowed as he sat beside Enjolras. His first instinct was to put his hand to his forehead to see if he had a fever, but he elected to rub small circles into Enjolras’ shoulder with his thumb. 

“People paid to come see me, I have to go on.”

“You do realize that they came to see Red & Black, not _you_ specifically.”

Enjolras waved his arms around, tea sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the mug. “Semantics.”

“If you don’t finish your tea, I won’t even let you entertain the notion of going on this afternoon,” Combeferre threatened, arms crossed. Something about Combeferre’s expression made Enjolras sigh, acquiesce, and take a large gulp of tea defiantly before resting his head on Grantaire’s shoulder. 

“Better,” Combeferre said smugly.

“You shouldn’t go on if you can barely _talk_ Enjolras,” Grantaire said, rather rationally if he did say so himself.

“I’ll be fine,” Enjolras said, voice a bit raspy. He frowned and gave a cough. “Fine,” he reiterated, in a much clearer voice.

Combeferre sighed. “Just let your voice rest at the least?”

Enjolras nodded, already quiet. Grantaire wondered vaguely if Combeferre was actually a wizard.

“I’m going to go talk to Jehan and Javert and make sure they know to keep an eye on your this afternoon,” Combeferre added, giving Enjolras a knowing look before leaving the room.

Enjolras glared after Combeferre and then back at Grantaire before he took another long sip of tea, his eyes watery enough to not seem truly threatening as he looked at him over his mug. When Enjolras showed him the bottom of his empty tea mug, still not speaking, Grantaire gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Good job,” he whispered, his heart jumping a bit as he saw the flush across Enjolras’ cheeks.

Both of them jumped when the dressing room door opened and Jehan appeared.

“You well enough to sing, Enjolras?”

Enjolras straightened and took a deep breath before replying. “Yes, I am.”

“Well, let’s do some warm ups and see how you sound.”

“Going to play it by ear?” Grantaire interjected. Jehan gave a laugh and Enjolras rolled his eyes, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth nonetheless. 

“You could say that,” Jehan replied. “Alright, let’s go!”

Enjolras stood, reaching his hand out to give Grantaire’s a squeeze, and then left.

Grantaire was debating whether or not to rejoin Joly and the others when Enjolras returned. He still looked a little pale, but much of the color was back in his face. Grantaire just hoped it stayed there.

“You on?”

Enjolras nodded, smiling. Grantaire left him to get dressed, waiting in the hallway, watching the cast and crew scurry around before the first show of the day. He snapped a quick photo of Fantine silhouetted by the work lights, arms full of vests, and was editing it for Instagram when Enjolras’ door swung open and he emerged in full costume. No matter how regular and occurrence this was becoming, Enjolras in costume never failed to take Grantaire’s breath away.

Even more of his color seemed to be back (although, in retrospect, Grantaire considered, that was probably just the makeup) and he had his show face on, which always made him seem invincible. He gave Grantaire a small smile and went to take his place for the top of the first act.

How Enjolras got through the rest of the show, well, that was anybody’s guess. 

During intermission, Enjolras refrained from speaking, and instead drank some sort of concoction of lemon juice and ginger that Joly had whipped up for him. He grimaced after draining the glass in one long gulp.

“Whoa, I’m impressed.” Grantaire said, blinking. “Do you like your lemonade super sour or something?”

Enjolras just glared in response and gestured at Joly to pour him another glass. He drained it, and before anyone could ask him more about how he was feeling, he was out the dressing room door. Bossuet entered right as the door swung closed, stood there, vaguely confused for a moment, before realizing the person whose makeup he had come to do was already out the door.

“You just missed him by a second,” Joly said encouragingly. “Just try not to let him cough on you or anything.”

“I’ll do my best,” Bossuet promised, before leaving to go find Enjolras.

As Joly made himself a strong cup of tea, checking his tongue absently in the mirror as he spoke to Grantaire, Grantaire couldn't help but notice that Combeferre was mysteriously absent. At the realization, Grantaire couldn’t help but feel a vague sense of foreboding that had nothing to do with the strange smell of Joly’s tea.

Grantaire’s hunch was proved right during the second half of the show, when a harried-looking Combeferre swooped into Enjolras’ dressing room at a point when Grantaire was eighty-percent sure he was supposed to have a costume change.

“Do you know where Enjolras’ Sharpie is??”

Grantaire blinked. His brain failed to follow Combeferre’s train of thought, let alone the urgency behind it. “Uhh...In the top middle drawer, I think?”

Combeferre dove at the drawer, and Grantaire soon heard a loud, “Ah-HA!” Combeferre turned around, two red Sharpies in hand, and promptly shoved them into his pocket. “Grantaire, I have a very important job for you.”

“Uh, I hope this doesn’t involve going on stage because I didn’t shave today...”

Combeferre rolled his eyes. “No, no, this is far more important. I need you to help make sure Enjolras doesn’t go out for stage door this afternoon. And, if at all possible, to take him home instead.”

“Do you really think that will work?” Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “And doesn’t he have to go on later anyway?”

“Well, I know no one wants him to go out in the pouring rain and make himself sicker. And I’ve already spoken to both Javert and Jehan–” Combeferre cut himself off and his eyes shot to the clock. “Okay, I have approximately forty-five seconds before I have to be back onstage. Good luck, I believe in you.”

And before Grantaire could actually say anything affirmative or otherwise about Combeferre’s plea, the man was already gone. He hoped he made his cue on time, though knowing Combeferre, he had accounted for all possible variables.

Grantaire was about to go back to his phone when he saw something shining on the couch beside him. He picked up what turned out to be a set of keys, labelled in a looping script with an address that Grantaire could assume was none other than Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment.

“How did he...?” Grantaire said out loud to himself. He had to admit, Combeferre was good.

*

Stealing Enjolras’ Sharpies turned out to be a surprisingly brilliant tactical maneuver by Combeferre, as Grantaire was soon to discover. Once Enjolras was back into street clothes, most of his makeup off, revealing a face that looked quite a few shades paler than it had before the show, he immediately went to pull out his Sharpie from the drawer. Grantaire watched with a sense of dramatic irony, as Enjolras stood there for a moment, blinking absently at the dresser drawer.

“Grantaire, have you seen my Sharpie?” He said in an only slightly raspy voice.

Grantaire gulped. “No,” he lied.

Enjolras’ brow furrowed. “Do you have one I could borrow?” His gaze met Grantaire’s in the reflection of the mirror, his eyes as always a startlingly bright blue.

Grantaire felt a tendril of guilt in the pit of his stomach in lying to him, but then Enjolras gave a hacking cough. A surge of something close enough to courage swelled in him. “Enjolras, don’t you think you may want to skip stage door today?”

Enjolras looked at him as if he had said something blasphemous. “I can’t,” he gave a smaller, more dignified cough this time, “just skip it.”

“I think you are physically capable of not going out to stand in the rain for at least an hour to sign some soggy Playbills.”

Enjolras’ gaze was withering. “I’m sure Joly has an extra one.”

Enjolras never found out if Joly did have an extra Sharpie, as he entered the hallway to find the stage door barricaded. Quite literally, in fact. A couple of chairs, large cushions, and the bear from Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s door were heaped in front of it. If the obstacle was not already insurmountable, Javert stood in front of the pile of furniture, arms crossed.

“You are taking the rest of the day off.” Enjolras opened his mouth to speak, but Javert continued. “Combeferre has already spoken to me, and he is set to go on this afternoon. There is nothing to negotiate.”

Enjolras scowled. “I can at least go out to–”

“You may not.” Javert’s cool greyish eyes glittered almost menacingly. “And I have half a mind to put you on vocal rest for the rest of the weekend.”

Enjolras gaped. “I–”

“You need rest,” another, softer voice came from behind them. They turned to see Jehan, holding a bag of cough drops, which he promptly gave to Enjolras. “You need rest so you can give your best performance, yeah?” Enjolras’ face wilted, but he nodded ever so slightly. “Take care of him, Grantaire,” Jehan smiled, patting him on the shoulder.

“You can get out once the crowd has dissipated,” Javert added gruffly, though if Grantaire wasn’t mistaken there was a hint of a smile playing on the corner of his lips.

Enjolras nodded duly, and Grantaire led him back to the room. He made Enjolras a cup of tea as the blond sat on the couch and pouted. He had just carefully dropped a kiss to Enjolras’ forehead and settled onto the couch next to him when they was a soft knocking on the dressing room door.

“Come in,” Grantaire said tentatively. The door opened to reveal Combeferre, whose costume was halfway transitioned from his ensemble clothes to Enjolras’ costume.

Enjolras’ pouting, if possible, grew more intensified, or at the very least, more focused on Combeferre. The latter sighed.

“You knew it wasn’t good to go on today. I just stopped you from hurting your voice more.”

Enjolras did not speak.

“Grantaire’s going to help take you back to the apartment.”

Enjolras whipped out his phone and typed furiously. He held it out for Combeferre to read. 

“Yes, I know you are not a child, you are an adult you needs to recognize it’s okay to take time off for you health.”

Enjolras resumed pouting. Combeferre sighed again.

He turned to Grantaire. “The address–”

“Is on the keyring. I’ll get him home safe.”

Combeferre smiled, reached out and gave Grantaire an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Combeferre quietly exited, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire alone once more. Grantaire grabbed Enjolras’ water bottle and his own set of keys and then awkwardly waited by the door for Enjolras to decide he was ready to leave. Enjolras gave an exasperated sigh, a forlorn glance around the room, then let Grantaire hold the door open and lead him home.

*

Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment had about as many books as Grantaire would have expected, with the addition of at least a small library more. 

“Do you guys just raid the NYPL or something?” Grantaire asked, gaping, as he found a clear spot on the counter to place Enjolras’ things. The apartment was a bit larger than he would have thought two actors to own, and had a slider that opened onto a tiny patio overlooking the city. 

He turned to look for Enjolras, but he had already disappeared into what Grantaire assumed was a bathroom. Grantaire contemplated leaving, after all, did he really belong here right now?, but thinking of Combeferre’s look of gratitude, he figured he owed it to the guy to make sure Enjolras at least got to bed okay. 

Enjolras emerged from the bathroom, having changed into pyjamas. It was just then Grantaire was struck at how tired he truly looked. He was a good enough actor to have kept up a façade of semi-healthiness for remarkably long.

“Um, well you should get to bed.”

Enjolras nodded. His hair was already mussed up from changing clothes, which Grantaire should not have found as adorable as he did.

“Can I get you some water or anything?” 

Enjolras shook his head, padded over to the counter where Grantaire had put his water bottle, filled it up unceremoniously from the sink, and then took a drink from it, as if to prove a point.

“Okay, you are self-sufficient, I get it. So, I can just leave Combeferre’s keys–”

“Stay, please.”

They were only two words, spoken so softly they weren’t quite a whisper, but Enjolras’ hand gripped Grantaire’s sleeve in such a way that he knew he must have heard him correctly. He gulped.

“Okay.”

Enjolras smiled, and took him by the hand. He led Grantaire to a modest room with a small window, covered by thick red curtains, walls bare except for a few posters he couldn’t quite discern. What he could only assume was Enjolras’ bed stood on one side of the room, opposite a wooden desk. Enjolras looked at Grantaire’s face, as if trying to read it. Grantaire struggled to keep his face calm.

“Okay?” The tiny voice came again, barely recognizable as Enjolras’. He removed his hand from Grantaire’s to pantomime “sleeping,” emphasizing that he had no pretenses about anything else, even as he looked so tired he would collapse on the spot. It was so cute and weirdly considerate that Grantaire felt a chuckle tickle at his throat.

“Yeah,” he whispered back. Enjolras smiled again, the bags under his eyes darker in the shadowy room. He crawled into one side of the bed, eyes flickering to Grantaire. Grantaire sat on the edge of the bed, carefully removed his shoes, and slipped under the covers as well. The two faced each other, Enjolras holding out his hand to lace his fingers with Grantaire’s.

Enjolras looked at him and smiled, before letting his eyes close as he drifted to sleep. 

Grantaire watched him in awe. In awe of their close proximity, in awe of the slight shadow Enjolras’ eyelashes set across his cheeks, in awe of the tiny noises he made as he slept, and above all else, in awe at the intimacy he had been allowed with this man whom he so deeply adored. 

He felt his heart swell and he carefully shifted to place a kiss to Enjolras’ forehead. In response, Enjolras shifted forward in his sleep, nuzzling into Grantaire’s chest.

It was to the sound of Enjolras’ breathing that Grantaire, too, found himself dozing off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that?? Fast updates??? This chapter seemed a lot shorter than the last one, or at the very least, gave me less problems in editing! And I wanted to add to the Barricade Day fun in my own way! Yes, the June Rebellion may have failed, but at least we can have fic where fictional revolutionaries cuddle in an alternate universe (sans monarchs).
> 
> The song epigraph for this chapter could have easily been "Take a Break" from Hamilton, but I'm trying to use a different show each time, so I'm saving Hamilton for a later update. ^^ And "Everything's Alright" is actually one of my favorite songs from JCS (although I personally always associate it with Enjolras/Combeferre...But hey, both R and Combeferre had E's back this chapter ^^). 
> 
> And if anyone was wondering, Bway AU Enjolras is ace because asexual!Enjolras (besides being canon, thanks Hugo xx) is the best Enjolras, imo. I don't know how much if at all it will be embellished in later chapters, but it's a point that is near and dear to my heart. x But hey, Roland Barthes was right ("Death of the Author," anyone?) so interpret every character as you will! But in this author's mind, Enjolras is ace (and Grantaire is obviously bi, if you were wondering lol).
> 
> Hope you all are having a happy Barricade Day, I know there is a huge influx of fic if nothing else! Thank you all for your lovely comments – they really keep me going and make my day whenever I see one! You all are the best <3 And as always, you can also find me on tumblr at [vivelarepublique](http://vivelarepublique.tumblr.com)!

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Red & Black: A New Musical, or as Emily and I (and everyone else I've talked to about it) call it, Broadway AU! This AU has been sitting in my Google Drive, if the comments are accurate, since about August 2014. Yup. I initially wanted to finish writing it all before posting it, but 70 odd pages later, and I'm ready to share this work with the world because A) I love it so much and B) this will hopefully give me motivation to write more. It's all outlined, so it may take me a while, but it'll be completed eventually, no worries. :)
> 
> Characters and tags will be updated as they are introduced, so I hopefully won't forget anybody or anything! So if you are disappointed by the small character list, it's gonna get a heck of a lot bigger in a few chapters! I know where all this is going, and you guys are in for a heck of ride (at least I hope it is!). I'm also hoping to get on a weekly posting schedule, but on verra. I'm writing a thesis this semester, but I also have a backlog of chapters that just need some polishing before posting... So we'll see what happens.
> 
> Nothing I've written before for LM has really ever made me feel like these characters, in some small way, belong to me, but Bway AU Grantaire is so near and so very dear to my heart. I'm so glad to share him with all of you, and I hope you all love him and his ongoing adventures as much as I do. <3
> 
> Any and all questions can be directed to me on Tumblr at [vivelarepublique](http://vivelarepublique.tumblr.com)! I have so many thoughts about this AU, and so many things yet to show you!! I can't wait for you to meet everybody! But if you have any questions or comments now, feel free to leave them here, and I'm always down to more thoroughly chat on Tumblr. Cheers!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Broadway Bakes à la Red & Black](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7192841) by [vivelarepublique](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivelarepublique/pseuds/vivelarepublique)




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